A Safe Place to Hide
by Flaignhan
Summary: She had asked for a safe place to hide, and she had been given just that.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** While avoiding doing some serious writing that could actually earn _money,_ I decided I missed Tom...to the extent that I decided to start a new multichapter fic. This first part is very short, because it is. The following chapters will be longer though. Weekly updates, every Friday (it _is_ Friday in good old Blighty...just) and...well...enjoy!

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**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

Her arm was broken, she was wand-less, and the cut in her side had already soaked her t shirt with warm, wet blood. Hermione's breathing became heavier and heavier as she ran, looking for somewhere she could find refuge.

She tripped on a large chunk of rock that had fallen from the ceiling and landed painfully on her knees. She cried out as she felt her left kneecap shatter. A masked figure appeared at the end of the corridor and looked at her curiously. He laughed, and walked swiftly towards her.

Through her tear filled eyes she could see Barnabus the Barmy, watching from his tapestry as though it were a light entertainment programme on the television taking place before him. The vacant smile on his face made her feel sick, and when she looked back at the masked man approaching her, the feeling of nauseousness increased tenfold.

She was going to die, in the seventh floor corridor, unable to put up a fight. She was going to die right here in this sorry looking part of the castle. They probably wouldn't find her for hours, maybe even _days_.

Hermione supposed it didn't matter though - it was only Nagini left to destroy now, and Voldemort himself. Harry could do that, she'd done her bit, and now she was no longer needed, so it was perfectly all right that she was about to die on the seventh floor corridor, while Barnabus the Barmy merely looked on in interest.

If she'd been physically able, she would have kicked herself. She was sitting in the seventh floor corridor, opposite the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, which meant the wall behind her was...

_I need a safe place to hide. _

_I need a safe place to hide._

_I need a safe place to hide._

The door opened and she was swept inside by some invisible force. She landed gently on a soft bed, and the sheets were immediately stained with the blood that had seeped through her t shirt. It felt almost as though she was a toddler, being picked up in a great swooping motion by her mother - time to go to bed now, it was very late.

But how had she got inside?

She had no time to consider this, however, because the handle of the door was turning.

_Lock it!_

_Lock it!_

_Lock it!_

The Room of Requirement followed orders, and the handle shook frustratedly as the Death Eater on the other side tugged at the handle.

_Keep me safe._

_Keep me safe._

_Keep me safe._

The Room of Requirement followed orders, and Hermione fell back, onto the pillows, her last morsel of energy leaving her body.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Here we are! It's _just_ Friday again (I've never been so anxious to post a story!) and as promised, here is the new chapter. Thanks for the response to the first chapter, I'm so glad you guys liked it, and I hope you enjoy this one just as much. Let me know what you think! =]

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**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

She didn't know how much time had passed since she had closed her eyes in the Room of Requirement. All that she knew was that she needed the expert care of Madame Pomfrey.

Her left leg was unusable, as well as her right arm. The blood on her shirt had dried to a crispy, coarse texture that caught painfully against the cut underneath every time she moved. It took a long time to reach the door, and even longer for her to stumble down the seventh floor corridor.

She didn't notice it was in an immaculate condition.

"Hello?" she called down the staircase, gripping on to the bannister with a shaking hand as her right leg trembled beneath her. She needed to rest. But she needed the Hospital Wing.

She heard footsteps and saw Professor Slughorn hurrying up the staircase, a stack of books tucked under his arm.

"My dear what -?" he stopped speaking when he saw her, and judging by the expression on his face she must have looked a right state.

She hadn't noticed the immaculate condition of the seventh floor corridor, but she _had_ noticed that on top of Slughorn's head sat a great mass of straw coloured hair.

That didn't matter though, because her leg gave out from beneath her, and she went crashing to the floor. Her head collided with the top step of the staircase and Hermione experienced a few seconds of dizzying pain before a chill rose up from her toes, drowning her in darkness.

* * *

"How is she?"

"She'll live. Any idea where she came from?"

"Inside the castle."

"She can't have."

"She can't have got up to the seventh floor like that...without a _wand_."

"True..."

Her head hurt. Her eyes felt too large for their sockets, and her entire body was stiff, achey, and unresponsive. The harsh daylight pouring in through the window made her squeeze her eyes shut only a moment after she had opened them, and a faint groan escaped her.

The footsteps were _so loud_ as they approached. It felt like someone was bashing her head in with a hammer with every single step.

"Miss? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah..." it hurt to talk, but it hurt even more to listen, so she answered, in the hope that the questions would cease.

"Drink this," the cool metal surface of a goblet was pressed against her lips and she drank the potion within in deeply. She began to feel better instantly. The light no longer burned through her eyelids, she could move her fingers, just about, and the the man's voice no longer sounded like it was sporting an inappropriate and inconsiderate _Sonorus_ charm.

"How do you feel?"

"Awful."

"Let her rest, Marcellus, let her rest. I'll be along tomorrow."

"Very well, Professor. What's your name, Miss?"

"Hermione."

"Well don't you worry Hermione, we'll have you right as rain in no time."

* * *

The following morning Hermione was able to sit up of her own accord. She pulled her standard issue pyjamas up to inspect the cut on her side. It had healed, all but for a dark purple line, left behind.

"Dark magic leaves traces."

Hermione gasped as she realised she was not alone.

"Marcellus Croft," he said, smiling kindly. "I'm the healer here."

"Healer? We've never had a healer, where's Madame Pomfrey?"

Marcellus frowned at her, before shrugging and continuing cheerfully. "That was a pretty nasty bash on the head you had. D'you remember how you got here?"

"You didn't answer my question."

Marcellus frowned again. "I'm afraid I don't know any Madame Pomfrey, Hermione."

"I _am_ at Hogwarts, aren't I?"

"Oh yes. D'you remember how you got here?"

Well. That was a question and a half. She thought it best not to tell him she flew most of the way on the back of a Gringotts dragon - from the way he kept frowning at her it was clear he was under the impression that she was quite mad.

"I'll just go and let the Professors know you're awake, shall I?"

Marcellus disappeared from the Hospital Wing, and Hermione huffed. Where were Harry and Ron? What had happened in the battle? Why was the castle so _quiet_?

She pulled her blankets off of her, the cold air making her toes curl unpleasantly as her legs instantly cooled. She touched her knee gently. It was all in one piece, which seemed like a promising start. Her arm, too, was in rather good shape. In fact, it was simply the purple scar running down her side that showed any signs of her ever being injured at all.

Carefully, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, the balls of her feet resting on the chilly linoleum flooring. She shivered, but her feet soon became used to the drop in temperature and slowly, with a great deal of effort and creaking of stiff joints, she stood up. She made it to the window after a few awkward steps and looked out over the grounds.

They were covered in snow.

How long had she been asleep for?

"Oh, you're up."

Marcellus had returned, and Hermione shifted so she was facing him.

"The Headmaster would like to see you in his office, when you feel up to it."

"I feel up to it now," Hermione said firmly.

Marcellus shook his head. "Have some food first, _then_ you can go."

"No, really, I'd like to go right now," Hermione's voice rose both in volume and pitch as she gripped onto the window sill behind her, the feeling of something _wrong_ sitting heavily in her stomach. She needed to speak to someone...someone other than a healer, someone who'd be able to _explain_.

"Hermione, you need to eat. I shan't take no for an answer."

She had to admit, her legs felt a little weak, and she'd only been standing for a few minutes. Her stomach was growling too, as though her body was siding with Marcellus while her brain was adamant that it should do things differently.

"Fine."

Marcellus smiled and she made her way back over to her bed, climbing into it and making herself comfortable.

"Sampy!"

A house elf appeared with a loud _crack_.

"Would you fetch some lunch for our patient, please?"

"Yes, master!" the elf chirruped, and disappeared again, only to reappear moments later with a large wooden tray heavily laden with sandwiches, tomato soup, and a large slice of sponge cake. He set it down on her lap. "Anything else you is needing, Miss?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, thank you."

The elf dipped into a bow then disappeared once more.

She was even hungrier than she had first anticipated. Hermione ate the sandwiches quickly, before moving onto the soup, though by the time she was halfway through the biggest slice of cake she had ever attempted to eat, she was completely full. She felt better for it though, and Marcellus smiled knowingly when he looked up from his desk, where he was making notes.

"Erm..." Hermione said awkwardly. "Do you have any clothes, I could wear? I don't really fancy going to see the Headmaster in pyjamas." She tugged at the stripy material, as though she needed to demonstrate how unsuitable it was, and Marcellus nodded. With a wave of his wand, a small pile of clothes appeared at the end of Hermione's bed.

"Thanks," she said, picking them up and heading over to the small bathroom on the other side of the ward.

She skewed her lips to one side as she took in her reflection. She was very pale, perhaps she needed another blood replenishing potion. Perhaps she simply needed some sunshine. Her face had a gaunt, starved look about it, almost reminiscent of Sirius while he had been on the run, though not nearly as extreme as that.

She pulled a loose thread out of the grey, knee-length skirt Marcellus had conjured for her and frowned. The whole outfit was a little frumpy, but that was the least of her worries.

There was, however, a nagging in the back of her head that would quite let her put Marcellus' lack of knowledge when it came to female fashion from her mind.

She sighed and left the bathroom.

"What's the password for the office?" she asked.

"Oh, I'll show you the way," Marcellus said, getting to his feet.

"No it's okay, I know where it is."

"You do?"

"Of course," Hermione's eyebrows knitted together and Marcellus sat down.

"Indecisive."

"Indecisive?"

Marcellus nodded. "Apparently the Headmaster couldn't make up his mind _what_ he wanted the password to be."

"Right," Hermione said. "Thanks."

She left, trying to piece everything together but still drawing a blank. Come to think of it, she didn't even know who the Headmaster _was_ these days. It _had_ been Snape but if the war was over surely it was someone new?

Hermione reached the gargoyle a short while later, and muttered the password. It sprang aside and she entered, climbing the spiral staircase until she reached the heavy wooden door at the top. She knocked twice, loudly and clearly.

"Come in!"

She pushed the door open and walked into the office. The man behind the desk was small, red cheeked, with huge white sideburns obscuring a good portion of his cheeks. The office itself was different to the last time she had been in it as well. The decoration was still the same - Phineas Nigellus was watching her with a critical eye from his portrait and she narrowed her eyes at him.

There were no whirring silver mechanisms, no trinkets, nothing that suggested Dumbledore had ever set foot in this office.

Except for the two shiny black boots that met her eye when she glanced at the tottering pile of books on the floor in the corner of the room. Her eyes travelled up, taking in a set of flamboyantly embroidered robes, a reddish-brown beard, a crooked nose, on which sat a pair of half moon spectacles, behind which were a pair of twinkling blue eyes.

"Oh."

"Hermione, I believe?" the man behind the desk said.

"Professor...Dippet?"

"Yes, yes...and this is Professor - "

"Dumbledore."

"Yes..." Dippet stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Have a seat."

"Am I dreaming?"

"Unfortunately, when one asks that question, they never are," Dumbledore said. He waved his wand and a squashy armchair appeared. He sat down, and gestured for Hermione to do the same.

It seemed she found it easier to take up Dumbledore's invitation than Dippet's, so she sat in the wooden chair opposite Dippet, twisting it so she could see both Professors at once.

"Now, my dear," Dippet began, "Would you care to tell us exactly how you got _in_ to the castle?"

Hermione shook her head.

"It's all right," he continued, "You're quite safe here. If you're running from Grindelwald - "

"I'm not."

"How did you sustain your injuries? It took both Professors Dumbledore _and_ Merrythought to save your life - very dark magic indeed..."

"You saved my life?" Hermione asked, her attention on Dumbledore.

"Well, Professor Merrythought did as well, and Marcellus of course."

"Thanks," she said, and she regretted the lameness of the statement immediately. "Thanks a lot."

Dumbledore simply nodded.

"But what happened to you?" Dippet persisted.

"I think it's best I don't say," Hermione said, getting to her feet. "Look, this has been a bit of a mistake. Thanks for taking care of me, but I'd best get going. Don't worry, I'll leave the way I came and - well, you won't see me again - well, you will but - "

She glanced at Dumbledore, who had arched one eyebrow, while he watched her curiously.

"Thanks for saving my life, and give my thanks to Professor Merrythought as well, and Marcellus, but I'll be off now, goodbye!" she backed towards the door of the office and was stumbling down the spiral staircase before Dippet had a chance to argue.

Hermione ran down the corridor, up the stairs, ignoring her tired legs and the stitch in her side. She kept going until she reached the seventh floor corridor, and skidded to a stop when she arrived at the patch of wall that had never let her down...until now.

Admittedly it was a safe place to hide - anywhere near Dumbledore was fairly safe, but from what she could gather she'd been spat out in the wrong decade by the Room of Requirement, and she needed to get home right now.

She began pacing in front of the wall, back and forth, waiting for the door to materialise.

_I need to go home._

_I need to go home._

_I need to go home. _

The door formed and she wrenched it open, and went inside.

_Take me home._

_Take me home._

Please_ take me home._

She waited, but nothing happened. She didn't remember anything actually _happening _before, but she had lost consciousness as soon as she had entered the room. She huffed, and decided to check outside.

She opened the door. Her stomach dropped when she saw it was exactly the same as it had been moments ago. She decided that she ought to go and check - perhaps the Room wasn't entirely accurate. Maybe it had sent her back a couple of months too early, before any damage had been inflicted on the castle, or a couple of months too late, after it had been repaired.

Hermione headed down the corridor, not wanting to run into Dippet again. Granted it was _his_ school she had shown up in, unannounced, bleeding and broken, but he seemed to be a little bit too nosy for her liking. She descended a couple of flights of stairs and eventually arrived in the library. Her sanctuary. Her home from home.

There was one person working quietly in the corner, but Madam Pince was nowhere to be seen. The boy looked up curiously, his dark hair contrasting harshly, but not unpleasantly, with pale skin.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

The tone of his voice almost answered Hermione's question for her. He was well spoken, incredibly well spoken, with a smooth texture to his voice that suggested he belonged on the radio.

They didn't make voices like that where she was from.

"Yes, actually," Hermione said, smiling politely. "Might seem an odd question, but what's the date?"

He smiled, in a way that said 'yes, yes that really is quite an odd question, but I'm going to answer it and hope you move on quite soon'.

"New Year's Day," he said, his smile still present. "Nineteen-forty-five, if you were in any doubt."

"Ah. Right. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

He watched her as she left, and it took all of Hermione's will power to not shout out something very rude. Technically, she would be let off it she did - after all, it wasn't everyday she woke up fifty years too soon. She wondered if perhaps she had died in the Room of Requirement and this was her after-life; some never ending logic puzzle that she would never quite be able to get to the bottom of with her sanity in tact. _Or_, perhaps she wasn't dead. Perhaps she was just in a coma, and this was her mind's way of entertaining, no, _infuriating _her while she was unconscious.

She was soon back in the Room of Requirement, ready to close all possible loopholes that may have been present in her previous request.

_Take me back to nineteen-ninety-eight._

_Take me back to Harry and Ron. _

_Get me out of nineteen-forty-five._

She closed her eyes as she made her demands, and when she opened them, she was simply presented with a small piece of parchment.

_You asked for a safe place to hide. _


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Morning all! Hope you're all excited about the Hallows release - I know I certainly am. Shameless plug time - I posted a one-shot yesterday called 'Kind' about Remus and Lily. It's not shippy, and it's not particularly long, but it's got a bit of the 'aaw' factor, if you were looking for something of that nature. Also, again, thank you for the wonderful responses - I've said it time and time again but nothing motivates me more to keep writing than knowing that you're enjoying the outcome. Hope you like this chapter, and hope you all enjoy Hallows. (Squee!)

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**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

To say she was furious would be an understatement.

Hermione stormed out of the Room of Requirement, ignoring the fact that her body was crying out for rest, descended the stairs rapidly, her hand skimming against the stone surface of the bannister, and was soon facing the gargoyle that marked the entrance to the Headmaster's office once more.

"Indecisive."

It slid aside, and once she'd climbed the staircase and reached the door at the top, she didn't bother to knock. She pushed the door open to see Dippet and Dumbledore still sitting there, only this time, her chair had been taken by the boy from the library.

All three of them looked at her in silence.

"There's a bit of a problem."

"You had a one way ticket?" Dumbledore suggested mildly.

Hermione nodded. "It won't take me back."

"_What_ won't take you back?" Dippet demanded, his scarlet cheeks puffed out in impatience.

"Perhaps, Armando, a more delicate touch is needed - the young lady is clearly distressed, and she's still recovering from very severe injuries."

"And I'd like to know who's bringing injuries caused by dark magic into my castle!" Dippet thumped a small podgy fist down on his desk, knocking over an empty goblet, which landed on the floor with a clatter.

"Dark magic?" the boy asked curiously.

"Come," Dumbledore said firmly. "We'll talk in my office. We'll return shortly, Headmaster."

Dippet sighed and nodded. "Very well, Dumbledore, very well."

Dumbledore placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder and steered her from the office.

She was relieved to get out of there. She didn't like being treated as an impostor, though she supposed it was quite fair that she was, but even so, it wasn't her _fault_.

"You'll have to forgive the Headmaster," Dumbledore said, once they had put some distance between themselves and the office. "He's very concerned about security these days."

Hermione's mind whirred. Nineteen-forty-five, he'd mentioned Grindelwald, okay, that made sense.

"Naturally," she said, trying to sound as casual as possible. In reality, her panic levels were rising and rising and rising, and now all of it was frighteningly real.

"You know me," Dumbledore said a short while later, "yet I confess I'm oblivious as to who you are."

Hermione said nothing, and they reached the door of Professor McGonagall's, _no_, Professor _Dumbledore's_ office. He tapped the handle gently with his wand and the door opened smoothly, the lamps inside igniting automatically.

Dumbledore gestured for her to sit down, and she did so, her eyes wandering around the usually formal office (in her time at least). She recognised some of the metal contraptions that sat on tables and shelves immediately from the Headmaster's office in her own time, and she would never have found a bowl of sweets on _McGonagall's_ desk, that was for sure. Harry had once told Hermione that McGonagall had practically forced shortbread in his mouth, but she wasn't _quite_ sure she believed him.

"I have a theory I'd like to sound out - perhaps you'd like to indulge me."

Hermione nodded.

"As we established, you know me, but I don't know you. You also recognised Professor Dippet, but again, he doesn't know you," he met Hermione's eye with a carefully controlled gaze, as though seeking permission to continue on this train of thought.

She nodded again.

"You've never set foot in the castle yet you know it just as well as I do. Perhaps _better_."

She wanted to argue, but from his perspective it was true.

"You somehow appeared on the seventh floor without entering through the castle gates, without a wand, and being in no fit state to _climb_ seven flights of stairs..."

"So what's your theory?" Hermione asked, already knowing that he had it sussed out far better than she did.

"My theory is that this castle holds more secrets than we ever imagined. And my theory is that it's best that you keep those secrets _secret_."

"How will I get home though? It's not working now, it just won't _work_. It's like it's _laughing_ at me."

"Home is the future?"

"Yes..."

Dumbledore sighed and clasped his hands together.

"Apart from the obvious obstacles, what worries me is the state that you arrived in...it seems the future is not a happy place to be."

"I just needed a safe place to hide..." her voice cracked and she buried her head in her hands, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes. She wouldn't cry. Crying never helped anyone.

"Ah, so often we put things in a safe place, only to find that the hiding place is _so_ safe, even we, the hiders, can't find it."

"Yes, but _I'm_ not a _thing_, I'm a _person_."

"So you are," Dumbledore said in agreement, nodding his head thoughtfully. "But perhaps to your hider doesn't see you as such."

"So what do I do?"

"You _think_, Hermione. You _think_."

"Right."

"I'm sorry I can't be of more use, but time is a very tricky thing to tackle, and we'd best try not to disrupt it."

"What if I can't get home?" the question had been dancing around in her mind almost mockingly from the moment she'd spoken to the boy in the library. She had refrained from asking it until now, she dreaded the answer, and hearing it aloud would make it far too real, but her curiosity overpowered her cowardliness.

"Then you must make the best of what you have."

"I don't even have a wand," Hermione said, her right hand closing and opening as though it thought that if it did it enough times, it would soon be holding on to her wand.

"Don't worry, we'll go and see the Headmaster now and explain as best we can. You're more than welcome to stay at Hogwarts, of course."

"Thank you."

They stood up, and Dumbledore led the way back to the office. Hermione was sick of the sight of the stone gargoyle by now, and when they returned Hermione could heard Dippet's voice carrying through the wooden door to his office.

"Even if I knew I wouldn't be able to tell you, Tom. Some things have to remain confidential."

"Of course, Headmaster, I was merely being curious."

Dumbledore pushed the door open fully and cleared his throat, the conversation ceasing abruptly.

"Ah, Dumbledore."

"Unfortunately we haven't quite gotten to the bottom of the mystery, Headmaster. But you needn't worry about Hermione, she's merely lost. I have suggested she remain at Hogwarts for the time being."

"Jolly good, jolly good. Tom, would you care to give us a moment? There are things we must discuss with Miss..."

"Gra-" Hermione started, then realised it would be unwise to give her real name. It wasn't like she was 'Jane Smith' or 'Sally Brown' - her parents had bestowed upon her a rather unusual name, and it was best that it was brand new when her younger self would start Hogwarts in fifty years time.

"Grey," she said, just about managing to pull it off. "Hermione Grey."

The boy in the chair stood and reached out a hand, which she shook. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss Grey. I'm Tom. Tom Riddle."

She couldn't help it. It was almost as though she had been burned. She snatched her hand back, earning herself a surprised look from both Tom and Dippet, but Tom merely smiled and left the office.

"Something wrong, Miss Grey?"

"Electric shock," she lied, with more skill than she ever imagined she had.

Dippet seemed mollified and gestured for her to sit down in the seat that Tom had just vacated. It was still warm, and the fact made her toes curl in her shoes.

"I see Tom has already shown interest in the matter," Dumbledore said, his expression stiff.

"He's just curious, Dumbledore, no need to _fuss_. Now, what's this all about?"

"Hermione has accidentally landed in our time. She does not belong here, however, she is unable to get back at present."

"How?"

"Headmaster, I fear that that is information Hermione needs to keep to herself."

Dippet nodded, his fingers fiddling with his lapels. "Yes, yes, of course."

"If you don't mind, Hermione, how old are you?"

"Eighteen, Professor."

"So you're in your seventh year?" Dumbledore asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes...I suppose so. I'm afraid I didn't get a chance to start it though."

"Do you wish to continue your education while you are here?" Dippet asked. "You're more than welcome to."

"I...well - yes, I suppose that would be a good idea."

"Hermione is without a _wand_, Headmaster," Dumbledore added. "Perhaps a visit to Diagon Alley would be appropriate?"

"Yes," Dippet agreed, nodding, "yes, very good." He got up from his chair and disappeared into the room beyond the office, returning a few moments later with a black leather money bag. "This should cover the cost," he said. "And you'll be able to get your text books too, though perhaps you'll need to get them second hand..." He passed the bag to Hermione and she took it, her eyes wide at his generosity.

"Thank you Professor," she said. "Thank you so much."

"Not to worry, not to worry. Perhaps if you're feeling well enough you can go tomorrow. Tom can accompany you, it'll be good for the boy to get out of the castle."

"Oh I'll be okay, there's no need to worry, I know my way around Diagon Alley just fine," Hermione found that it was difficult to keep the nervous flutter from her voice, though Dippet didn't notice it.

"These are dangerous times, Miss Grey. It is ill advised to travel alone in the current climate, and I must insist that the pair of you are back in the castle before nightfall."

Hermione opened her mouth but no argument came. What could she possibly say to him? 'Sorry Professor, but your favourite student is actually going to grow up to be an insane mass murderer who makes Grindelwald look like a bad tempered chihuahua'?

Dippet waited a few moments, looking at Hermione expectantly, and once the silence had been long enough, he clapped his hands together. "Right then, that's settled. Just the matter of the house you'll be in..."

"Ravenclaw?" Hermione suggested, mentally crossing all her fingers and toes.

"Let's see, let's see..." Dippet pulled a scroll of parchment out of the drawer of his desk and unfurled it. He squinted at the small, neat writing that covered it, dragging his finger down the page until he found what he was looking for. He nodded. "Yes, that seems fine - only three girls in seventh year, should be plenty of room."

Hermione nodded. "Why is the castle so empty?" she asked.

"It's the Christmas holidays," Dippet replied, rolling up the parchment. "Everyone's gone home."

"_Everyone_?"

"Except Tom, poor lad... But yes, everyone. None of them have been too keen to stay for holidays after that business a couple of years ago."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Perhaps it is time Hermione returned to the hospital wing? I'm sure she needs her rest."

"Yes, yes, of course," Dippet said, placing the parchment back in his desk drawer and shutting it with a snap. "Come back here tomorrow at eleven, Miss Grey, you and Tom can use my fireplace to get to Diagon Alley."

Hermione nodded and left the office, the money bag that Dippet had given her weighing her pocket down considerably. She descended the stairs slowly, as her tiredness began to swallow her up, and the stone gargoyle slid aside once she reached the bottom.

"Hello."

He had been waiting for her.

"Oh," Hermione said, doing her best impression of someone who was not terrified in the slightest. "Hello."

"Are you going back to the Hospital Wing?"

Hermione bit her lip. Educated guess or eavesdropping? She had no idea, but the twisty feeling in her stomach told her that this was not a situation she wanted to stay in.

"Yes, yes I need to go and rest."

"May I walk with you?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up her forehead and her brain began to whir, searching for an excuse. Although, she supposed, if she was going to have to spend a considerable amount of time in his company in Diagon Alley the following day, she may as well get used to being around him now. He wouldn't dare do anything right under Dumbledore's nose.

Except of course...open the Chamber of Secrets, murder a student then frame an innocent person for the crime.

"Erm, yes, I suppose so, if you'd like."

He smiled, and it didn't reach his eyes - not even close actually. The eyes remained as still and focused as ever while the lips curved in a well practised manner that may have convinced Dippet or Slughorn, but certainly wouldn't convince _her_.

"So what happened?" he asked, before adding in an almost nervous tone, "If you don't mind me asking, of course."

"I was attacked," she said simply. It wasn't a lie, but nor was it the whole truth.

He hadn't asked for the whole truth though, and even if he had, he certainly wouldn't have got it.

"By who?"

Hermione shrugged. "Not a clue." This too, was true. She hadn't seen the person who had inflicted her injuries upon her - the castle had been so manic that it could have even been somebody from her own side.

She doubted it though.

"Professor Dippet said somebody cursed you."

It seemed that Tom Riddle was not going to give up on his questioning easily.

"Yes."

"What curse was it?"

"I don't know."

She wasn't about to add _Sectumsempra_ to his armoury - he knew quite enough curses already.

"Are there any lasting effects?" he hadn't practised the art of appearing concerned enough yet, and it felt more like she was being interrogated, though in a sense, she was.

"Yes," she said, keeping her eyes on the corridor ahead, wishing and wishing that the Hospital Wing would jump two hundreds yards closer. It certainly wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen in the castle lately, so it wasn't such a long shot.

"And they are?"

"It hurts. Quite a lot actually." Again, the truth.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

He wasn't.

Thankfully, due to a quickened pace rather than a change of castle layout, the door to the Hospital Wing came into view, and Hermione placed her hand on the door knob and twisted it open.

"I'll see you around I suppose," Tom said. "Goodbye."

Hermione nodded, managed a quiet "Bye," and disappeared into the Hospital Wing, appreciating more than ever the blank walls, springy beds and lack of future dark wizards.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Gooood evening/morning/afternoon/day/night/other vague time frame. Here we are. Another chapter, hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think! By the way, if you haven't gotten out and witnessed Hallows, you must. The kids (kids?) are brilliant. Emma's a proper actress now. She's ace. Can't say enough good things about that movie. Ah! Hopefully we can fill the gap between now and July with Tom, Tom, and more Tom. ;)

* * *

**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

The following morning, Hermione felt better.

And worse.

Her body felt like it could handle more than a few minutes of activity, but her stomach didn't feel like it could handle even a slice of toast when Sampy brought her a huge tray of food for her breakfast. The three hours between waking and going to Professor Dippet's office for her day trip with Tom Riddle slipped by in a matter of moments and she grudgingly began her walk to the office.

After being thrown back fifty years and then having three hours vanish into nothing, it was safe to say that Hermione was not on remotely good terms with the concept of time.

It was with dragging feet and an unpleasant squelchiness in her stomach that she climbed the stairs to Dippet's office, where Tom was waiting with an unreadable expression on his face.

Dippet, on the other hand, seemed far more cheerful than he had the previous day, and was chattering away about an article he'd read in the _Daily Prophet._

"By the way Miss Grey, which subjects have you been studying?" he asked, allowing the matter of a newly approved decree to slip from his mind. "I'll need to give you the book list..."

Hermione paused, her eyes travelling skywards as she tried to recall her sixth year timetable. "Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Potions, Ancient Runes..." she paused to take a breath, though Dippet seemed to think she'd finished.

"Excellent, excellent!" Dippet said, pulling open his desk drawer.

"And Arithmancy and Herbology," she added quickly.

Dippet looked up. "Merlin's Beard! Seven?"

Hermione nodded, trying to ignore the red tinge that was rising in her cheeks.

"You've got competition, Tom," Dippet said, turning to look at him.

"Excellent," he said, smiling that almost genuine smile again. "I can't wait."

Hermione could.

All too soon she had a book list in one hand and pile of grainy floo powder in the other. She arrived in the Leaky Cauldron coughing and spluttering, her cheek stained with soot. Moments later Tom arrived gracefully, looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the black mark on the side of her face, before turning towards the door that led to Diagon Alley.

She felt useless without a wand, and had to refrain from sulking when it was Tom who tapped his wand on the brickwork.

"Ollivander's?" he asked, as the wall behind them shifted back into place.

"Yes," Hermione said, determinedly, making her way through the crowd as fast as she could, Tom striding alongside her.

As they entered the shop and the little bell above the door tinkled louder than it should have for something so small, Hermione wondered which wand she would be leaving the shop with. Would her old wand be here, even now? Would she be able to take ten and three quarter inches of vine wood back to Hogwarts with her? Would she have to return it before she went home so her eleven year old self would be able to buy it?

That is, if she got home at all.

Her thought process was interrupted as Mr Ollivander clambered his way over stacks of wand boxes. He didn't look very different at all. It was as though he hadn't aged in fifty years, or perhaps, he had simply been born old. She had no idea how old he was, exactly, but his papery skin and greying (though not white, as it had been in her time) hair suggested that even now, fifty years in the past, he would be considered an 'old man'.

"Ah, Mr Riddle..."

"Mr Ollivander," Tom said politely. "Miss Grey needs a wand."

Mr Ollivander surveyed Hermione for a moment or two then disappeared into the back room, where Hermione could hear him shuffling through boxes.

"Did you buy your wand here before?" Tom asked, taking a seat in the wicker chair by the door.

"Er, no, no I didn't." Mr Ollivander remembered every wand he'd ever sold, and he didn't recognise Hermione. Tom had obviously noticed this, but Hermione wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of putting her in a corner.

"Where did you get it?" he persisted.

"It was a Gregorovitch," Hermione lied, hoping that this would be enough to cease his questioning.

"Really?" he sat up straight in his chair, looking interested. Properly interested, not just interested out of politeness. "Why did you get a Gregorovitch?"

"My father swore by them," she lied, mentally congratulating herself on the smoothness and speed with which she had communicated it.

"And you?"

"I don't care who makes it, as long as it does the job."

Tom nodded, and the conversation halted as Ollivander returned, a dozen skinny boxes stacked in his arms.

"Right then Miss Grey," he said with a smile on his face. "Let's get going."

It took even longer than it had when she was eleven. It had felt like a lifetime then, the novelty of wand waving wearing off after the first three explosions. Granted, she caused much less damage this time round, but there was nothing more uncomfortable than using a wrong wand. It made her hand feel cramped, somehow, and unsettled her insides (though that could have been Tom's presence, she wasn't sure).

"My my, this _is_ proving difficult..." Ollivander mused. He was standing on a ladder, reaching far into a cubbyhole, while Hermione counted the wands ever growing pile of rejects.

He pulled out a box, wiping the dust from the lid with the sleeve of his robe and opening it. She could tell from the first glimpse that it was the one. The wood was dark, so dark it was almost black, and the surface of it was smooth, silky looking, reflecting the candle light in a warm, opulent way. It looked like it ought to belong to somebody important.

Hermione picked it up, and the second she touched it, it belonged to her.

Warmth spread through her, and it did more for her well being than any of Marcellus' potions had. She felt instantly energised; it was as though she had been drowning and suddenly she had broken the surface of the water and taken that first glorious breath of fresh air. It was a reassuring hug, the return of a long lost relative, and now, at last, although it had only been two days, her right arm felt whole again.

Ollivander smiled knowingly, despite the fact that she hadn't cast a single spell, and began packing away the discarded wands.

Typically, now that she had a wand, she couldn't think of any spell she needed to cast. Just to make sure, however, she summoned the newspaper at the other end of the counter, levitated it, banished it, then returned it to its original place.

"All well, Miss Grey?"

Hermione smiled her first genuine smile of nineteen-forty-five and nodded, pulling her money bag out of her pocket. "How much?" she asked.

"One galleon and three sickles."

Her hair fell over her face as she looked down to count out her money. It was a good job too - one galleon for a wand was insanely low, but, she realised, inflation must factor in the wizarding banking system too, and by the time she had dug out the sickles, her face was the picture of normality once more.

"Use it well, Miss Grey," Ollivander said as he deposited the money into the rickety wooden till behind the counter. "Use it well."

"I will," Hermione replied. She turned to leave, and Tom pulled the door open, the bell tinkling loudly once more.

"Flourish and Blott's?" he asked.

"Yeah," Hermione said, making a rough count of the money she had left. "Then the apothecary."

Tom nodded, and they stepped out into the crowded street, trying to find a gap in the waves of people that they could slip into.

She had never been to Diagon Alley at this time of year. She had only ever visited it during the last week of August, when it was brimming with Hogwarts students and exasperated parents who reiterated time and time again that their school robes from the previous year fitted just fine, and no, they could _not_ have a solid gold cauldron and they didn't care if whatsername's mother had bought one for _her_.

The street was still packed, but not with students. There were younger children around, but mostly it was full of witches (and some, though admittedly very few, wizards) taking advantage of the Christmas sales, red and white signs hovering outside shops, boasting that they had the biggest discounts, and warning prospective customers that once their stock was gone, it was _gone_. The stressed atmosphere that Hermione was used to when it came to Diagon Alley had been replaced with a more relaxing feel; an air of post Christmas contentment.

Once they were inside Flourish and Blott's, Tom disappeared amongst the bookshelves, and an hour later, once Hermione had had a good browse, queued and paid for her purchases, she found him loitering in the small section towards the back of the shop dedicated entirely to dark magic. She cleared her throat pointedly, and he looked up, snapping shut the book he had been reading and replacing it on the shelf.

"Just curious," he said, then smiled. "Are you done?"

"Yeah," Hermione said.

He nodded and they squeezed their way out of the cramped shop, Hermione holding her bags awkwardly in front of her in an effort to not bash the legs of the other customers as she passed them.

The apothecary was much emptier, with one tiny, old witch rooting through the bargain barrel, extracting out of date ingredients, books with missing covers and broken utensils.

Hermione headed for the cauldron section, biting her lip as she surveyed the vast amount of choices on offer.

"You just need one of these," Tom said, picking up a standard sized cauldron from the bottom shelf. "And you might want to get a tool kit - the school ones are a little bit tired."

"I need to get the advanced ingredients set as well..." Hermione said, frowning at her list.

Tom shook his head. "They only say that so they don't have to buy ingredients for everyone. Slughorn lets me use the school stock, and I'm sure you'll be allowed too."

Hermione opened the leather bag and counted her remaining money. "I could afford it though, so there's no reason to rely on the school for - "

"Save your money for Hogsmeade," Tom said. "Trust me."

Trusting him was the last thing she wanted to do, but her feet made her decision for her, and she followed him over to the counter, with only the cauldron and a tool kit.

"You'll need robes, as well," Tom said as they left the shop. "Here, I can take that."

He took the cauldron from her, and Hermione just about managed to say 'thanks' before they headed across the street and into the robe shop that would later be taken over by Madame Malkin.

The witch behind the counter looked up. "Hello Tom, dear! How are you?"

"Very well, thank you," Tom replied politely. "And yourself?"

"Fine, fine...what can I do for you today?"

"Miss Grey needs some school robes. Ravenclaw I believe."

Hermione frowned. She didn't remember telling him that she was in Ravenclaw.

Either her expression had been very obvious or he had literally read her mind because he then added, "Professor Dippet told me."

She nodded, and stood on the stool as a standard set of robes were thrown over her head. The witch then set about speedily adjusting them and it was in no time at all that Hermione was leaving the shop, a bulging bag of robes in hand.

"Anything else?" Tom asked, glancing down at the list in Hermione's hand as she scanned through it, double checking to see if she had everything.

Hermione shook her head.

"Very well. Back to Hogwarts then."

They squeezed their way back into the Leaky Cauldron and queued in silence for the fireplace, Hermione looking determinedly ahead as people disappeared in a burst of green flame. She wondered if Harry would believe it if she ever got to tell him about this.

Her stomach clenched as she realised her brain had quickly adapted to 'if' as opposed to 'when'. Three days in and it seemed she had already given up hope without even realising it.

"Ladies first," Tom gestured towards the fireplace and Hermione grabbed a handful of floo powder, stepping quickly into the fireplace in order to escape him as soon as possible. Her respite was only momentary however, and he appeared mere seconds after her, in Dippet's empty office.

"Would you like me to help you take your bags up to Ravenclaw tower?" he asked, brushing his robes free of soot, his eyes meeting hers once he was satisfied.

Hermione was on the verge of saying no, then realised she didn't have the faintest idea where the Ravenclaw common room was.

"Erm, yes, thank you, that would be very kind."

He nodded, taking nearly all the bags, and led the way out of the office, pushing the door open with his shoulder and backing against it so Hermione could go down the staircase ahead of him. She didn't like him walking behind her - she felt the need to keep looking over her shoulder but had to refrain from looking suspicious. She came to the end of the corridor and stopped. Tom turned left, and she allowed him to walk ahead, watching his every move like a hawk.

His shoes were loud, and they clicked on the flagstone floor, echoing around the corridors. He walked with his head high, his shoulders back, as though he owned the place.

He seemed to have Dippet wrapped around his little finger at least, so perhaps, indirectly, he did.

They reached a bronze eagle shaped knocker after a few tiring flights of stairs, and Tom reached out, knocking once. Hermione involuntarily withdrew as the eagle came to life, surveying the pair of them.

"When is the grass not greener on the other side?" it asked, looking between the two of them.

"You have to answer a question to get in," Tom informed her. "And if you get it wrong you have to wait for someone who gets it right, so you learn."

"So anyone could get in? As long as they're smart enough?"

Tom nodded, and set the bags down, leaning against the wall as he considered the answer.

For a moment, Hermione thought that she would have been better off asking to go in Gryffindor. She'd wanted to keep her head down, stay quiet, and Ravenclaw seemed like it would be the place to do that. Gryffindors, for all their bravery and courage, were not shy of asking a few too many questions, whereas all Ravenclaw questions were strictly academic.

"When there's a snake in the grass."

Hermione blinked, and looked over at Tom who had straightened up and was now addressing the knocker.

"Very true," it said, in a critical manner, and the passageway opened, the candle brackets igniting, lighting the way into the Ravenclaw common room.

"The girls dormitories will be up the stairs and on the left, I believe," he said to her. "Dinner will be at six in the Great Hall. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks," Hermione said, and he nodded, before turning on his heel and striding briskly down the corridor.

She gathered her shopping bags and lugged them inside, dumping them on one of the navy blue sofas.

Even in her tired, confused, and downright frustrated state, she was still able to marvel at the sheer beauty of the Ravenclaw common room. The domed blue ceiling with bronze stars painted neatly on was simply breathtaking, as was the view of the mountains through the large arched windows that allowed the daylight to pour inside, reaching almost every corner of the room. Hanging around the windows were masses of blue and bronze silk, drawn back and secured by elaborately styled bronze fittings.

She had to admit, she was jealous. While she loved the Gryffindor common room, while it had been home to her for so many years, this was in another league altogether. It felt like it ought to belong in a palace, completely immaculate with rows upon rows of books, portraits scattered around the walls with curious occupants, and a large, almost intimidating statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, standing proudly in a recess.

She climbed the stairs to the dormitories, turning left and climbing again until she reached the door that had a bronze plaque fixed to it, reading "Seventh Years". She pushed the door open, and entered the room, which was circular, just like her Gryffindor dormitory. There was very little difference, in all honesty. There were four, four poster beds, with silk, not velvet curtains, and these were blue, not red. It could have been the same dormitory, bar the colour scheme, but then she began to notice the little differences. There were no scorch marks on the dressers, for example, a result unattended curling tongs, and by each bed was a fairly large bookshelf, completely full of books of varying sizes and age. She supposed the bed with the empty bookshelf was her own, and went and sat on it, fiddling with the covers with her left hand.

Part of her wished she had been sorted into Ravenclaw when she was eleven. She certainly wouldn't be in the mess she was now - it was only Gryffindors that got themselves into trouble like this. She didn't see Padma Patil or Penelope Clearwater wandering around anywhere.

But, she reasoned, if she hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor, she would never have become friends with Harry and Ron, and nor would she be a member of the Order.

And that in itself was a sobering thought. The Order of the Phoenix didn't exist yet. It didn't need to.

Yes, the Room of Requirement was right; this certainly was a safe a place to hide.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Here we are again! Another chapter! I am snowed in and have been doing lots of writing this week, so the one chapter a week thing looks like it's set to continue - I've never been so regular! Exciting! Hope you enjoy this one, and let me know what you think. =]

* * *

**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

Hermione spent a lot of time in the Room of Requirement. The library was her usual sanctuary, but she had discovered that Tom Riddle practically _lived_ in there. It seemed that they had one thing in common at least.

Not only did she stay in the Room of Requirement in an effort to keep hidden from Tom, but also because she was sure, if she went through enough types of phrasing, closed every loophole that could possibly exist, begged, cried, and swore (not that she _liked_ to swear of course, but desperate times called for desperate measures) she would eventually find her way home.

She didn't, though.

On the last day of the Christmas holidays she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

And then she saw him.

He was talking to a third year, and holding a Fanged Frisbee in his hand that he had apparently confiscated. Both of them turned to look at her, and then their eyes shifted to the door behind her, which she guessed had merged back into wall.

"Miss Grey," Tom said, smiling pleasantly.

It made Hermione's stomach turn.

"Girls' bathroom," she lied.

"Funny," he commented, in a tone of feigned ignorance and interest. "I never knew there was a girls' bathroom here."

"I didn't realise you were the expert," Hermione said, "Do you often make a point of visiting girls' bathrooms?"

Tom smirked and the third year eyed Hermione warily, backing away from Tom slowly, taking the opportunity to escape while Tom was distracted.

"I can't say I am, but forgive me for being curious when a door simply _disappears_...Withers, get back here this instant, I'm not finished with you."

The third year skulked back, hands in his pockets and Tom turned to address him. Hermione began to leave but Tom threw his arm out, blocking her path. He didn't say a word - he didn't need to. The action itself made his point clear enough.

Eventually the third year was allowed to scuttle off, his house ten points worse off, and once he was out of sight, Tom threw the frisbee high in the air, watching as the fangs extended, whirling round in a blur, before he caught it.

"That's not a girls' bathroom," Tom said assuredly, throwing the frisbee into the air again.

Hermione frowned. "It is."

Tom shook his head and Hermione turned to the wall.

_I need a girls' bathroom._

_I need a girls' bathroom._

_I need a girls' bathroom._

The door appeared and she pulled it open slightly, glancing inside to check it had done the job properly. For once, it had decided to follow her orders to the letter. A gleaming white bathroom with a row of cubicles on the right hand side, a row of sinks opposite was set before her and she turned smugly to Tom.

"See?"

Tom looked through the doorway then turned his attention back to the frisbee.

"So you know how the room works then," he said. "You've been here less than a week and you already know one of the castle's most closely guarded secrets. How?"

Hermione wasn't sure how to play this one. Would it be best for her to tell him she had just stumbled across it? Or should she pretend that she genuinely thought it was a girls' bathroom that only appeared when one had need of it? Needless to say, her trips to the Room of Requirement were now officially at an end.

"I just found it," she said, "I was looking around and I found it."

Tom looked at her in a 'do you really expect me to believe that?' way, but Hermione simply met his gaze, her expression blank, and, she hoped, innocent.

"One simply does not _find_ the Room of Requirement," he threw the frisbee in the air _again_ and Hermione had the strongest urge to snatch it from him. She didn't like being treated like this, like she was less important than a blasted frisbee.

"Well this _one_ simply _did_," Hermione retorted, crossing her arms.

"Crossing your arms makes you look defensive," he told her. "I'd avoid it if you want someone to _believe_ you when you lie."

"Ah, so now you're an expert on girls' bathrooms _and_ lying," Hermione snapped.

Tom turned to face her, the frisbee dropping to the floor with a clatter.

"Dippet might swallow every lie you throw his way but you're more transparent than a _window_ to some of us."

She hurried off, wanting to get out of the situation as quickly as possible. She had gone too far, had pushed too many buttons, and had probably made him even more suspicious and curious about her. She was a fool, but soon she arrived in the Great Hall, taking several short cuts and her heart rate began to slow at last.

The house tables were overflowing with students, and she felt rather intimidated by it. It had been so long since she had experienced a proper meal at Hogwarts that she'd forgotten just how many students the Great Hall could hold. She took a seat at the end of the Ravenclaw table and tried to ignore the curious glances sent her way.

"You must be Hermione," a tall, skinny girl with her dark hair pinned up in an elegant style sat down opposite her and smiled.

"Oh, yes," Hermione said, setting down her knife and fork and shaking the girl's outstretched hand.

"I'm Amelia," the girl said, "Amelia Septon. Professor Merrythought owled me over the holidays to let me know you'd be joining our house."

"Oh," Hermione said, not really knowing how to respond.

"I thought I'd better introduce myself anyhow," Amelia said. "I expect you've been rather lonely over the holidays, what with only Tom and the teachers here."

"Yes, it has been rather quiet," Hermione agreed. "But it wasn't too bad."

"I expect Tom looked after you, he takes his Head Boy duties _very_ seriously...he's nice enough though."

Hermione made a small murmur of agreement, not trusting herself to open her mouth.

"I don't know where Grace and Maggie are..." Amelia looked around the Great Hall before shrugging. "I expect you'll meet them later. They're the other girls in our dormitory."

Hermione smiled, not having any sort of worthwhile response. She was terrible at small talk, and even more terrible at it after a heated exchange with Lord Voldemort. She hoped Amelia would think she was shy, rather than downright rude, and luckily the girl didn't seem too perturbed from the lack of communication at Hermione's end.

"Where did you go to school before?" she asked. "Or were you home schooled?"

Hermione opened her mouth but it was a good second or two before the words 'home schooled' fell out.

Amelia nodded. "I expect it's a big change, suddenly being among all these people. It's all right once you get used to it though. You'll never get lonely with this many people, that's for sure."

Hermione smiled. She had a good idea that she would manage to be lonely some way or another, despite Amelia's best intentions. The out of place feeling that had been swirling around inside of her for the past week had increased tenfold since the other students had returned - the girls with their beautifully styled hair and neat, sophisticated outfits made Hermione, with her bushy (on a good day, frizzy on a bad one) hair and mismatched conjured outfits feel like she was some sort of urchin.

This, however, was a problem that was soon sorted for her. Grace and Maggie were Lavender and Parvati's forerunners, and took great delight in styling Hermione's hair when she had complimented them on their elaborate dos. The seventh year Ravenclaw dormitory became a dressing up box for Hermione, with the girls having a much better idea about the current trends than Hermione did.

It was fun, in a childish way. In the way that secretly, every girl, no matter how studious or tomboyish, wanted to look devastatingly pretty on occasion. It was _not_ something she would do every day, however, and Amelia informed her that she wasn't alone. The girls always looked _fabulous_ the first day back, because there was nothing to do on an eight hour train ride other than experiment with each other's hair.

After a lot of giggles, _some_ talk of school work, and plenty of hairpins, it was time to go to bed, and one wave of Grace's wand freed Hermione's hair from its fastenings, allowing it to fall onto her shoulders, curlier than ever. It was with a smile that Hermione climbed under the duvet, and they bade each other goodnight, before Maggie extinguished the last candle.

Hermione still wanted to go back home, but now she had made some friends, _nice_ friends, Tom Riddle's presence weighed on her mind much less heavily. As gentle snores began to fill the dormitory, Hermione soon found herself falling into a much needed, peaceful sleep.

* * *

"Professor, are we going to learn how to cast a Patronus today? You said after the holidays..." a blonde boy had his hand high in the air, waving it for attention.

Professor Merrythought's lips curved into a smile and she nodded. "Yes we are, Abbot."

The boy put his hand down and the class bristled excitedly at the news.

"Books away, wands out." Professor Merrythought needn't have said it, though it seemed she wished to draw out their anticipation as long as was humanly possible. She shuffled to the front of the class, and Hermione noticed she was wearing slippers. It struck her as something Dumbledore might have done, had he still been teaching in his later years.

"Now," she continued, once the class was utterly silent, "The key to a successful Patronus is not in your power, it is in your _mind_, your _soul_."

Hermione couldn't help but glance at Tom, two rows ahead on the right, who fiddled with the gold ring on his finger. Hermione shuddered.

"The incantation, as I'm sure many of you are aware, is _Expecto Patronum_. But this isn't enough on its own, in fact, it's rather useless. You need," she paused, her tiny blue eyes inspecting each student in the room to make sure they were giving her their undivided attention, "A _memory_."

It was clear the class had already read the chapter on Patronuses in their text books. When Harry had informed the member of Dumbledore's Army that the memory was the most important thing, almost every student had been surprised in one way or another.

"It has to be the happiest you've ever felt, so happy that it _burns_ a Dementor, so happy that you feel like you're floating simply by remembering it. You focus on that, you let it build, and then -" she stopped abruptly, then whispered, so quietly that it might have been mistaken for a draft hissing through the gap in the door. "-_ Expecto Patronum._"

Hermione looked around the classroom, smiling as she saw the wonder and excitement filling the faces of the other students. Was this what seventh year would have been like? Tiny classes with people who _desperately_ wanted to learn? Who got excited and passionate over a new spell?

No. It wasn't what seventh year would have been like.

Seventh year would have been full of misery and pain. Seventh year would have been spent hiding out in the Room of Requirement, or even worse, rotting in a cell in Azkaban because the Death Eaters had discovered she was muggleborn...

She seemed to have missed part of the lesson due to her absent mind, because with a great grinding of chair legs on stone, everyone was getting to their feet, wands out, a few hands trembling in anticipation. Hermione stood up, her wand in her hand, and thought very clearly, of the day when, aged eleven, Hermione had opened the door to Professor McGonagall. The second she saw her Transfiguration teacher, Hermione had known that the day was going to be a special one.

She couldn't help but smile as she recalled opening her letter, then having its validity proved to her by a small demonstration by the Professor. It filled her up, just as Professor Merrythought had described, just as Harry had described all that time ago in the Room of Requirement.

A sparkling silver otter burst from her wand, and the small puffs of silver that lingered around a few of the students' wands disappeared as they let their attention fall on the only Patronus, corporeal or otherwise, in the room.

She felt a burning sensation in the side of her face, the hairs on her neck standing on end, and when she turned, she could see Tom glaring at her, not a single hint of silver within ten feet of him.

"Oh very good, very _good_, Miss Grey!" Professor Merrythought shuffled forward, reaching out a liver spotted hand to pat Hermione firmly on the back. The silver otter returned to Hermione's wand tip, and the room suddenly became very dull.

"Have you conjured a Patronus before, my dear?"

Hermione nodded, ripping her gaze away from Tom. "A few times."

Professor Merrythought nodded again, "Well done, very well done indeed. That, ladies and gentlemen," she turned to the rest of the class, "Is a true Patronus. Now it's your turn."

Hermione stood at the side and watched while Tom struggled with the charm, the calm façade he usually sported slipping every so often when his frustration flared. Professor Merrythought offered him a few words of encouragement, which he smiled painfully at before he met Hermione's gaze and she looked away.

"How d'you do it?" Grace asked, sitting down on the window sill with a huff. "I can't get anything!"

"It takes time," Hermione said. "Loads of practice. It doesn't just happen."

Grace folded her arms and sighed. "Well, Tom can't do it so I guess I shouldn't feel too bad about it."

"What's your memory?" Hermione asked.

Grace shifted. "Getting my OWL results. I got four Outstandings."

"Well that's not good enough," Hermione said with a frown, before adding quickly, "Not the grades! The grades are fantastic!" she felt her cheeks redden but Grace simply grinned. Hermione let out a breath before continuing. "I mean the _memory_ isn't good enough."

"I was so happy though," Grace said, frowning slightly.

"You must have been happier at some point. What about the day you first came to Hogwarts? How did that feel?"

"Scary."

"But in a good way, right?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Maybe try that then," Hermione suggested. "It needs to be an overwhelming memory. It doesn't necessarily need to be the sort of happy where you're dancing round the house, it needs to be something that you can't describe."

Grace nodded and got to her feet, practising once more. On her seventh attempt she managed a large shield of silver smoke, and Amelia and Maggie ran forward, congratulating her. Grace turned to Hermione and smiled broadly, but her view was blocked suddenly by a Slytherin tie. She looked up, and saw Tom's face, his eyes dark and troubled.

"You just told her how to do it."

"Hardly."

"What did you tell her?"

"You just need to choose the right memory," Hermione said, not meeting his eye. She found the floor was easier to look at, and she could almost pretend she was talking to Harry or Ron. Granted he was far more abrupt than the pair of them, which was saying something when Ron was taken into consideration, but she could pretend.

"She said it has to be a happy memory."

"And?"

"Well I haven't got any of those."

Hermione had always found it hard to empathise with Voldemort the way Harry had. She could never get her head around him, while Harry was able to read him like a book. Perhaps because they had both been denied happy childhoods, or perhaps because they had both been very different from the start. Patronus or not, Tom was brilliant. He was the envy of everyone in the school, loved by the teachers, fiercely intelligent, and, though it made her stomach twist to acknowledge it, utterly handsome with the capability of being unfailingly charming whenever it was called for. Harry, on the other hand, was different for another reason - he had bounced between hero and undesirable all his Hogwarts, life, but never, not once, had he been anywhere in the middle for any length of time.

The words he had just spoken, however, made her realise more clearly than any second hand explanation of Dumbledore's ever had, that Lord Voldemort, deranged, psychotic and evil though he may be, had simply started out as a boy who had never been loved.

While she couldn't do much about the void of happy memories, she was overcome with the desire to help him. He didn't even seem _bothered_ by the lack of happiness in his life, and that in itself was a tragedy. There was hope for the unhappy providing they _knew_ they were unhappy. For the indifferent, there was nothing.

"Well..." she started, and he took the spot on the window sill that Grace had vacated ten minutes previously. "If you don't _do_ happy, what about triumph? Surely you must have done something that made you proud?"

He nodded, and Hermione had an awful feeling she knew what he was thinking of.

"Maybe try that. The spell alone won't work, so you _need_ a memory."

"Right." He got up and left, retreating to an empty corner of the room where he practised and practised and practised. He managed a few small puffs of silver, but by the time the bell rang, Tom Riddle, for the first time in six and a half years, had progressed no further than the rest of the class.

"Well, that was an anticlimax," Maggie said sulkily.

"Oh you didn't think you'd have a proper Patronus after forty minutes' practice did you?" Amelia responded. She had been just as unsuccessful as Maggie, but wasn't taking it to heart nearly as much.

"_Something_ might have been nice," Maggie picked up her bag and her cloak, swinging the former onto her shoulder.

"Tom didn't get anything though," Grace added with a smug smile.

"Yeah!" Maggie said, her mood lifting exponentially. "Did you see the look on his face when you conjured _yours, _Hermione? If looks could kill..."

Hermione said nothing, and after a small silence, it was Amelia who spoke.

"And on that rather _cheerful_ note..."

Grace snorted, and the four girls left the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Hi guys! Here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy it. And a quick note to Whaaa (you didn't sign in so I couldn't reply via message) the updates are slow because stories must be written and unfortunately, this takes time. Other things in my life which also take time (meaning there is less story writing time) are: trying to get a degree, blagging my way through assignments I don't understand, trying to write a novel to pay my way through a master's degree, socialising, watching movies, reading, attending lectures and seminars, making plans for Christmas, shopping, cleaning, cooking and other such things. I hope that clears things up for you. =]

* * *

**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

As the spring term progressed, Hermione became more and more comfortable with her situation, managing to lose herself in her lessons and the company of her new friends. She had stopped visiting the Room of Requirement, and whether this was more to do with her losing hope that she'd ever be able to get home, or the fact that Tom seemed to be round every corner she turned in the school, she didn't know.

She did have to admit, and it wasn't a pleasant thought, that she couldn't see a way of returning to her own time. She had tried every phrase, closed every loophole and even kicked the solid stone walls (this had been one of her more unfortunate ideas).

Dumbledore hadn't ruled out her return however, and this was the one thing that hadn't snuffed out her 'if I get back' thoughts altogether.

"Have you seen this?" Amelia asked, over breakfast in the Great Hall. She laid the _Daily Prophet_ flat on the table and slid it over to Hermione and Grace so they could see the headline and the subheading beneath.

_GRINDELWALD MARCHES THROUGH FRANCE._

_Dumbledore yet to act._

"Why does it have to fall to him?" Maggie asked indignantly, buttering a slice of toast rather forcefully. "He's not an Auror, he's a _teacher_. I don't think it says anywhere in his job description that he has to save the world..."

Hermione glanced up to the staff table, where Dumbledore was also reading the front page, his expression solemn. "I think," she began slowly, returning her eyes to the newspaper, "it's because he's the only one Grindelwald's scared of."

"Grindelwald's scared of Dumbledore?" Amelia asked, her eyebrows set in a curious frown. "Really?"

Hermione faltered, before she managed to choke out an explanation. "Well wouldn't you be?"

"Doesn't seem that scary to me," Grace said,stirring her tea lazily. Her eyes flicked over to the staff table and back again. "I mean, even when you've done something really bad he's more disappointed than angry. I don't think Grindelwald cares about whether he disappoints some teacher who he's never met."

Hermione had to take a large bite of her toast, to stop the word 'actually' escaping her mouth, and she pulled the newspaper closer, speedily reading the front page and flicking over until she found the continued article.

The effect of the article in the _Daily Prophet_ was clear when they reached their Transfiguration lesson. Dumbledore made no eye contact with any of them, rushed through his explanations, answered any questions quickly and concisely in a slightly sharper tone than the students deserved, and gave them twice the normal amount of reading to do for homework.

"Well he's certainly feeling the pressure."

Hermione stopped as Tom's voice floated around the corner of the corridor. Though she could only hear him, she knew he would be surrounded by at least half a dozen Slytherins.

"I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be _brave_," an oily voice sneered.

"Quite, Arcturus, but you know Dumbledore, biggest hypocrite of them all."

As much as Hermione had tried to defend Dumbledore when Harry had been questioning all the things revealed in Rita Skeeter's book, she couldn't help but feel that the words coming from Tom held a much greater weight than any one else's. She had to confess she had been disappointed and disenchanted when Dumbledore had left them with barely any clues about the Horcruxes. He had known more, yet had thought it best not to tell them, and while Ron had blamed Harry for this, she knew the one who had deserved the harsh words was lying in a white marble tomb in the Hogwarts grounds.

Even now, fifty years in the past, while he was still alive and still presenting the front that had fooled the three of them for six years, Hermione could see Dumbledore more clearly for what he was than ever before.

"Eavesdropping, are we?"

Hermione glanced up at Tom. "No."

She stepped sideways to walk past him but he grabbed her by the arm, holding her still.

A jolt shot through her, though she had no idea what it was - fear? She wasn't scared, at least, she hadn't been until she had felt the shock of electricity that had surged through her at his touch.

He pulled his hand away as if he had been burned, and Hermione met his eyes for a moment.

The situation had affected him far more than it had her. His eyes, usually sparkling with the sense that he knew a great number of things you didn't, were now hollow, almost shocked, and, Hermione realised with an unsettling twist of her stomach, haunted.

He broke their gaze and marched off, not looking back, and, Hermione noticed, not even using the reflection in the window at the end of the hallway to check behind him. Hermione gathered herself, took a deep breath, and continued down the corridor, towards the library.

Once she got there, however, she found herself unable to concentrate on any work. Her head was filled with memories of Hogwarts, _her_ Hogwarts, being destroyed by Death Eaters and giants while students were _dying _trying to protect it. She thought of Harry, and of Ron, and wondered if they even knew she was gone. Would they assume she was dead? Or would they think she had been a coward and had run away to save herself, abandoning them altogether?

No.

They would never think that.

She forced herself to read the first page of _The Trials of Tricky Transfiguration _and once she had read the same paragraph nine times, she decided it was no use, went to the desk to check it out, and headed back to Ravenclaw tower.

As though someone was playing a very cruel joke, she bumped into Tom before she managed to get halfway there.

"Oh," he said, and looking up, Hermione saw that he had ditched his Slytherin cronies and was now on his own.

"Oh," Hermione said simply.

"Are you all right?" he asked, and Hermione detected the faintest hint of a stutter.

"Yes," Hermione replied, frowning slightly. Why wouldn't she be all right? And even if she _wasn't_ all right, why would he care?

"Oh," he said, that same nervous shake in his voice, "good."

He sidled around her, careful not to make any physical contact and left her alone once again.

She spent a good minute or so coming up with all the reasons that proved she had most definitely _not _imagined the exchange between her and Tom just then, but even though she was quite sure she was in her right mind, she couldn't help but feel completely disoriented by it.

She was so disoriented, that once she got up to the Ravenclaw common room, she sat there attempting her potions homework for a good two hours before she realised she was supposed to be in Ancient Runes.

"Where _were _you?" Amelia asked, dumping her bag on the settee with none of the grace and sophistication she usually troubled herself with.

"What?" Hermione asked vaguely, looking up from her essay.

"Have you been here all this time?" Amelia asked. "You missed Runes!"

Hermione's hands flew to the sides of her face and she looked at the grandfather clock next to the fireplace. It was a quarter past four, and Amelia was right, she _had_ missed Runes.

"Oh my goodness," she said, and she stood up, then realised that she had no lesson to go to and sat back down again. "Oh my goodness..."

"What happened?" Amelia asked, taking a seat next to her. "You were fine in Transfiguration."

"I just...I got distracted."

"Well not very much," Amelia nodded to the minuscule amount of work on Hermione's piece of parchment.

"Oh...my head's been all over the place this afternoon," Hermione answered as truthfully as she could.

"Anything to do with Tom?" Amelia asked carefully, each syllable precisely pronounced. She glanced sideways at Hermione and then at her neatly manicured nails.

"Why?" Hermione asked, which in itself had been a mistake. She saw Amelia's eyes flash as soon as she detected something gossip worthy and added hastily, (again, another mistake) "And no, nothing to do with Tom."

"He wasn't in Runes either."

"Why?"

Amelia shrugged. "He just didn't turn up. Much like you. We wondered if perhaps the two of you were having a _private_ lesson."

"Absolutely _not,_" Hermione insisted. "Don't be ridiculous."

"But neither of you _ever_ miss a lesson. _And_ I heard Rebecca Freeman say that she saw you and Tom have a..." she threw her eyes around the room, as though she half expected the answer to be written on the wall, "moment."

"A moment," Hermione repeated sceptically.

"Yeah..." Amelia said vaguely. "Something about him holding your hand and looking in your eyes really intensely..."

Hermione's stomach lurched and Amelia's shoulders dropped as she realised that this, more than any of Hermione's reactions so far, was entirely genuine.

"So it wasn't quite like that?" she asked with a sigh.

"_No_," Hermione said firmly. "He just grabbed my arm because he was going to say something...and then he decided not to."

Amelia's eyebrow raised, along with her interest. "Really?" the word was long and drawn out, and a very Slytherin like smirk appeared on her face.

"Don't start," Hermione sighed. She stacked her books and rolled up her parchment, before heading upstairs to the dormitory, drawing the silk curtains firmly around her bed. It was unnecessary, because Amelia didn't follow her up to the dormitory to question her further, and she was allowed an hour of peace before finally, the door clicked open and one of the curtains was pulled aside.

"Dinner's starting soon," Amelia said quietly. "Are you coming down?"

Hermione sat up and nodded.

"Are you all right?" Amelia asked. "Sorry if I..." she trailed off.

"It's all right," Hermione replied. "I just..." she tried to put her finger on what was bothering her so much. Apart from the fact that today, more than all the days since she had been here put together, she missed Harry and Ron with a fierce intensity that tore at her heart whenever they crossed her mind. Unfortunately, today, this was all too often. Every single thing she saw and heard and thought of could be linked back to at least one of them. Whether it was the Hufflepuff fourth years who had been enthusiastically discussing the upcoming quidditch match between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, or a boy in her Arithmancy class that had bright red hair, or when she had spoken to Maggie at lunch, and the girl's bright green eyes seemed to hold some of the same quiet thoughtfulness that Harry's often had.

There were other, more obscure instances that set her mind firmly elsewhere. She had read the words 'Felix Felicis' and her mind had jumped instantly to the Potions lesson that seemed like a lifetime ago, when Harry had surprised them all by attaining top marks. Bartholomew Belby had been wolfing down mashed potato and for a moment she had seen Ron sitting in his place, and had continued to stare for a good few minutes before Grace had nudged her arm and asked her what in the name of Merlin she was doing.

Amelia was still waiting patiently by the door.

"I just miss home," Hermione said.

"Well Easter's coming up in a few weeks, you'll be able to visit, won't you?"

Hermione shook her head, and after they shared a look, Amelia asked no more.

When they arrived in the Great Hall, it was apparent that Rebecca Freeman's unrivalled observation and talent for talking had done Hermione no favours whatsoever. Even though she had felt utterly detached from herself all day, it didn't stop her noticing the curious glances or whispered comments shielded by half cupped hands.

"Really? But no one's _ever_ seen Tom with a girl...not like _that_."

"Maybe he was waiting for a brainbox."

"But plenty of the other girls in seventh year are smart."

"Yeah, but _she_ can conjure a corporeal Patronus. Not even _Tom_ can do that."

"_Really_?"

Hermione cleared her throat loudly and the fifth years stopped talking abruptly. She took one look at the curious eyes of the Ravenclaw table, most of them eyeing her subtly, while some, mostly males or members of the lower years were more blatant.

"I'm going," Hermione whispered. "I'm not having this."

Before Amelia could even begin to reason with her, Hermione had hurried from the Great Hall. She wasn't hungry, but thought she ought to get something in case she regained her appetite later in the evening, so she headed down towards the kitchens, tickling the pear in the portrait, which let out a giggle, and stepped inside.

He looked up at her, as though he wasn't surprised. "Hello again."

"Hi," Hermione said, before turning to the house elf who had scampered up to her.

"How can I be helping Miss?" it squeaked.

"Just a sandwich please," Hermione said after a small amount of consideration.

"Would you like them wrapped Miss? Or would you be eating them now?"

"Wrapped, please," Hermione said, feeling very much as though she were in a muggle takeaway.

The comparison made her think of her parents, and the thought of them made her heart heavy.

"I heard you didn't attend Runes this afternoon."

Hermione looked at him. He was sitting casually on a wooden chair, a cup of tea in one hand which he drank from at disturbingly regular intervals. His dark eyes pierced her, and she was overcome by the feeling that lying to him was useless, that he would see straight through her in seconds.

"I heard the same about you," she replied, avoiding the question that hadn't quite been asked.

Tom smiled briefly, and although Hermione could no longer see the haunted look in his eyes that had shocked her earlier, there was still an underlying hint of unease.

"How come you're not at dinner?" she asked.

"How come _you're_ not at dinner?"

"I asked first."

Again, he smiled briefly. "They're talking about us. Because I spoke to you earlier. They've come up with some dung that suggests that we might be..."

Hermione couldn't be sure, she may have imagined it, but she thought she saw the faintest shade of pink rise in his pale, sculpted cheeks.

"That we might be?" she persisted, wanting to hear him say the words. Wanting to know _what_ words were on the tip of his tongue. As far as she was aware, Tom Riddle had never had any romantic attachment to anybody, and even though the rumours were just that, she was curious as to how he would talk about it.

"More than friends," he said, and either she _had_ imagined his blush or he had pushed it back down, for now his skin was as pale as parchment.

"_Are_ we friends then?" Hermione asked.

"Are we _not_?" his habit of answering her question with another question was already testing her patience.

Hermione said nothing, determined not to be the fountain of information in this conversation. She had realised quite quickly that he got his information by asking carefully innocent questions, or countering frank and honest questions with one of his own. It was a diversion tactic that worked well on most people, but Hermione was not _most people_, and she knew exactly what was to become of the handsome teenage boy sitting before her, politely sipping his tea.

"Miss! I is having your sandwiches here, Miss!"

Hermione smiled, and took the enormous foil wrapped package from the elf, glad of the interruption.

"Thank you," she said, before turning to Tom. "I'll see you tomorrow I suppose."

"Yes," he said, raising his tea cup, "See you tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **If it's any consolation, Friday, my usual update day, was spent by sitting in traffic jams for seven hours, in order to complete what should have been a three hour journey. That, and the fact that writing the first six chapters so quickly (and some stuff that's still yet to come) has burned me out, and so all the writing I did last week was solely for my trashy novel, all comes to the same conclusion - this chapter is, inarguably, late. It is, however, in existence. I have written it this afternoon, and am posting without even proofreading, because I'm sick of the sight of my laptop and I need a shower and must wrap presents. You'll have to forgive any minor errors, at least, I hope that any that did make it through _are_ only minor. Now, all that remains is for me to a) thank you for your reviews of the last chapter, b) say that I hope you enjoy this one, c) promise more Tom in the coming chapters and d) wish you all a very Merry Christmas, or to those that don't celebrate it, hope that you enjoy all the lovely telly and sales. =]

* * *

**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.

* * *

**

It was with a great deal of restraint that Hermione managed to get through the week that followed her 'moment' with Tom. She was rather proud of herself actually; she hadn't snapped at anybody, hadn't told anybody to shove their rumours where even a Probity Probe would not be able to reach them, and, most importantly (to the continuation of her education, at least) she had not hexed anybody to within an inch of their life, despite the fact that the desire to do so was constantly bubbling away in her stomach.

Tom was dealing with it in the same way he dealt with anything - coolly, casually, charmingly, but with that subtle threatening undertone that made sure he did not have to tell somebody to stop talking to him more than once. In fact, he didn't even need to open his mouth, all he needed to do was give them a haughty, raised eyebrow look and they would scuttle off, quite aware that if they said another word they would, at the very least, be put in detention.

"Could be worse," Maggie said, as they sat in Ravenclaw tower, slowly getting ready for bed, chatting and braiding their hair. "I mean you could have had your _moment_ with Barnabus Cuffe."

Hermione pulled a face and saw that Grace and Amelia were wearing similar expressions to her own.

Barnabus Cuffe, future editor of the _Daily Prophet_, was, to put it kindly (though Hermione saw no reason why she _should_ be kind about the biased, Ministry-loving, Rita-Skeeter-employing fool) not generally considered to be a great catch. According to Grace he had only ever had one girlfriend, and that had been Martha Midgen, who had been blighted with the same bad luck in the aesthetics department as her future granddaughter, Eloise.

"You know the only way to stop this nonsense is by giving them something else to talk about," Amelia said, looking up briefly at Hermione before returning her attention to filing her nails.

"Such as?"

"Well, I heard Rebecca Freeman kissed Max Hambley, down in one of the dungeons, last Tuesday."

"_Really_?" Grace asked, her eyes lighting up wickedly.

"But what about Josie? She's going to be _mad_ when she finds out," Maggie had put aside her Transfiguration revision, the gossip ensuring that she would not be able to spare one iota of brain matter to concentrate on her notes.

Hermione wasn't convinced. "Is this true?" she asked, knowing the answer already.

Amelia smirked. "No, but who cares?"

Hermione didn't like rumours. She didn't like them at all, and the thought of spreading a false one was something she would _never_ have considered before. Rebecca Freeman, however, had conjured up an entire romantic liaison from Hermione's brief conversation with Tom, and not only that, but the rumour had started putting unpleasant thoughts into Hermione's head, thoughts which ought not to ever be thought by anyone. Against her will, she had wondered what it would be like if she and Tom actually _were_ an item (this, she was sure, would end in her untimely death). As she lay awake at night, the whispers of conversations swirling around in her head, her mind meandered down an unpleasant avenue, featuring kisses, touches, and one time (she had sat bolt upright at this moment, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes until all she could see were coloured spots and patterns) things had gone a little further.

It was with no guilty conscience that Hermione permitted Amelia to start spreading the rumour tomorrow. While Josie was an unfortunate victim in this matter, it was no secret that Max Hambley had been seeing other girls behind her back (whether Rebecca Freeman was one of them was quite beside the point) and Josie was much better off without him.

"She's still going to have a _hugely_ public break up with him though," Maggie said, "that's going to to be _so_ embarrassing."

Grace shrugged, "She dropped a rat's tail in my potion last year, on purpose. She ruined it, and I got a really bad mark."

"Oh fair enough then," Maggie replied, grinning broadly, "sod her."

Hermione watched as Amelia smirked and wondered whether the girl ought to have been sorted into Slytherin instead.

"You're enjoying this just a little too much, you know," Hermione said.

"You have to fight fire with fire, Hermione," Amelia replied innocently, Grace and Maggie agreeing with her, before the four of them set about embellishing the tale to make it as sensational and believable as possible.

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure how they'd managed it. By the second lesson she was being told by Sarah Ryder about how Rebecca Freeman and Max Hambley had been meeting in secret for months, that she had first tricked him with a love potion, but once it had worn off, had realised that she needn't have wasted the potion ingredients on the dishonest little rat.

"Oh my goodness," Hermione said, thinking perhaps that she should be nominated for an Oscar for this performance, "Does Josie know?"

"She does now," Sarah told her, making no effort to sound sympathetic to Josie's misfortune. "She hasn't seen him yet though, I reckon it's all going to explode at break."

Sarah had been correct. Hermione, Amelia, Grace and Maggie watched from the stairs as a teary Josie shouted and screamed and wailed at a bewildered Max, who did nothing but protest his innocence. In one final fit of rage, Josie had screamed a curse, her wand pointing at Rebecca, and everybody watched wide eyed as she transformed into a large, ugly black rat, with elongated teeth and matter fur. Max took one look at his supposed bit on the side and ran, Josie flinging hex after hex at him before her friends pulled her away, just as Dumbledore arrived on the scene.

"I do believe," he said, picking up the rat Rebecca to save her from being trampled by herds of onlookers, "that your lessons began five minutes ago."

It only took two seconds for his piercing blue look to take effect on the hundreds of students cramped into the Entrance Hall, before they scattered, and Hermione followed the others up the stairs, pushing her way through the other students, maintaining a tight grip on the bannister in case she fell.

Dumbledore was late arriving to their lesson, most likely because he was dealing with Rebecca's new look, or dishing out detention to Josie. Whatever the reason, it gave the class time to chatter excitedly about the events that had just unfolded, with not one single mention of Hermione or Tom. Amelia was looking more pleased than ever before, and just behind her, Hermione could see Tom, fingers laced together, ignoring the gossip, the epitome of cool. He glanced towards her, then one half of his mouth curved upwards in a smirk, one eyebrow rising on his forehead in an expression that made sure Hermione knew he was well aware of what had gone on that morning.

"With your NEWTs beginning in a matter of weeks," Dumbledore said as he entered the classroom briskly, causing all the students to fall quiet immediately, "I'm rather surprised you're not using this time to revise."

"But sir," Grace interrupted, in the cheeky way that always seemed to get her off the hook no matter what she said, "Did you not _see_ the break up?"

"I'm afraid I was waiting here for all of you to attend your lesson," Dumbledore replied, though he was smiling.

"That's a shame sir," Grace said, "It was a corker."

"I'm sure it was," Dumbledore tapped the blackboard with his wand, and it was filled with curled, chalky writing. "We'll be going over Switching Spells today, so if you could open your books to page seventy six..."

The class did as they were told, and Dumbledore managed to instil just enough quiet panic about their NEWTs in them to make sure that they were taking in every single word he said.

* * *

"Convenient, wouldn't you say?"

Hermione looked around and saw Tom standing just behind her, his words unheard by the others around them, who were all much too focused on the revelation that Max Hambley had also been seeing Victoria Fitterson, the news of which had come from Victoria herself. On top of that, Max hadn't been seen since break time, and the stories whizzing around about where he might have got to were getting more fantastical by the moment.

"Well I'm not going to pretend I'm not pleased," Hermione responded, keeping her gaze straight ahead as they moved slowly along the packed corridor.

"Rather curious though, that it's the girl who started the rumours about us who's now the centre of attention, don't you think?"

"Karma, I suppose," Hermione said. "What goes around comes around, you only get what you give, all of that."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps it is..._engineered_ karma."

"Engineered?"

"Well, you know what the guilty always say...'she got what was coming to her'."

"You think I _made_ Rebecca kiss Max?"

"I _know_ Rebecca didn't kiss Max, because she is quite besotted with Abraxas, who, I can assure you, is using her pitiful feelings to his full advantage."

"Interesting," Hermione said mildly, and when he didn't respond she added, "Well, I'm quite liking the idea of not being talked about wherever I go, and I think we can keep it that way if you're not hanging around me, don't you?"

Again he didn't respond.

She turned to look over her shoulder and he was gone, where, she had no idea. Hermione couldn't see him anywhere in the crowded hallway, he couldn't have gone anywhere with any amount of speed, and despite everything that _Hogwarts: A History_ said to the contrary, the only option she was left with was that he had disapparated.

Hermione went through the rest of the day cheerfully, occasionally contributing a shocked reaction or judgemental opinion to whoever took her up in conversation about the day's events. Grace and Maggie seemed to spend the whole day stirring up trouble, but Amelia, mission accomplished, was quite happy just to sit back and watch it all develop.

Rebecca didn't reappear in lessons for the rest of the day, though Josie was present in Runes, ashen faced and surrounded by a barrier of Hufflepuff girls. Apparently, (and this was only apparently, so probably wasn't true at all) Rebecca's recovery time was sure to take at least a month, and not even Dumbledore had been able to transfigure her back into her normal human self. As such, Josie had been given detention everyday for as long as it took Rebecca to recover. Apparently.

Hermione suspected that it _was_ just the creation of somebody's imagination; she couldn't imagine Dumbledore being quite so harsh on somebody who had acted foolishly when they were as upset as Josie had been, nor could she imagine that he had been unable to return Rebecca to her human form. Perhaps a couple of days bed rest and perhaps _one_ detention for Josie, but nothing more, of that she was fairly sure.

On top of the drama, something else had gotten the students excited. The end of term was fast approaching, with a Hogsmeade trip set for the coming Saturday.

"I can't go," Maggie said, "I haven't even _started_ my Potions revision, and I _still_ can't do a proper Disillusionment Charm. I can't go, no _way_."

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised. Despite being branded a bookworm, a know-it-all, a swot, and most likely several other uncomplimentary things associated with her need to do well, Hermione had _never_ missed a Hogsmeade visit in order to revise. She liked to think that she arranged her revision time table in such a way that she wouldn't _need_ to make such sacrifices, but when Grace and Amelia agreed with Maggie, she began to wonder if she had been taking her NEWT exams far too lightly.

Granted her year on the run with Harry and Ron had put things into perspective rather a lot, in fact, all her time at Hogwarts had proved to her that there were things far more important than good marks, well written essays and ancient, convoluted texts being read, but even so, she liked to think she was taking her education seriously.

"If I don't get an Outstanding on my Potions I can't get onto Healer training," Amelia said with a guilty shrug, not meeting Hermione's eye. "Sorry."

"And I need to get all my grades above Exceeds Expectations or the Ministry won't take me," Grace added. "And Professor Merrythought will do that whole 'disappointed' thing. Ravenclaws _never_ get Acceptable in anything. I don't want to be the first."

"Right," Hermione said. "Don't worry, I was only planning to go to _Tomes and Scrolls_ anyway, nothing exciting. Did you want me to pick anything up for you?" She looked around at the three girls, and eventually it was Grace that spoke.

"As much Honeydukes chocolate as you can carry? Exams are stressful, after all. It's a necessity, I feel."

"Oh Merlin, yes," Maggie agreed, nodding fervently. "Yes, absolutely."

"Okay," Hermione said, her smile returning. "As much chocolate as I can carry, got it."

"Maybe you can go with Tom," Amelia suggested, twiddling with a strand of her dark hair. "Maybe," she continued, "the two of you can have a...moment."

Hermione glared at her.

"Careful, Mia," Grace said, suppressing her laughter, "she'll pull a Josie if you don't watch out."

Amelia laughed, but didn't goad Hermione any further.

"Actually," Hermione said, "I think I prefer a good Bat Bogey Hex."

There was a groan of disgust, and, mission accomplished, Hermione returned to her book, unable to shake off thoughts of wandering the streets of Hogsmeade with the most feared sorcerer in wizarding history.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hi all! Hope you had a wonderful Christmas and hope your New Year's celebrations all go according to plan and are wonderfully fun. Thanks for the reviews of the last chapter

* * *

**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

Amelia, Grace and Maggie had stuck to their guns and were in the library revising while Hermione was making her way into Hogsmeade alone.

She had been browsing books in _Tomes and Scrolls _for a good forty five minutes when she saw him, loitering in the back corner that suited him so well. He was frowning as he read something but before Hermione could get a glimpse at _what_ he was reading, the was a deafening bang, followed by a series of screams and yells.

Tom glanced up, and Hermione dropped her books as they both came to the same conclusion.

They ran to the window and pressed their faces against the glass, their breath misting on the surface and obscuring their vision. The middle aged wizard who ran the shop took one look at the group of men standing in the middle of the street and disapparated.

"_Coward_," Tom hissed vehemently.

"Is that..." Hermione whispered.

"Grindelwald," Tom finished darkly. "And his followers."

She could almost recognise him from the picture she'd seen in Rita Skeeter's book, though all sense of mischief and playfulness had gone, leaving behind a hollow, uncaring expression that Hermione suspected never changed. He was wearing a set of deep green robes, the shoulders of which pointed upwards, giving him a presence which no one else in the village could hope to achieve. She noticed he was wearing the hallows sign proudly around his neck, just like Xenophilius Lovegood, and Hermione now fully understood why Viktor had been so angry.

His followers were wearing robes of blood red, like the students of Durmstrang. Their pointed faces and narrowed eyes made Hermione reach for her wand.

"What's he here for?"

"Not butterbeer, that's for sure."

Neither of them laughed.

"Come out to play, Hogsmeade!" Grindelwald called, his voice magically magnified so it was heard in every building in the village. The group of men behind him laughed, and Hermione's stomach lurched.

She wondered if he was here to goad Dumbledore.

"I won't ask you again!"

In an instant, Hermione found herself being dragged by the ankles along the floor, out of the door of the shop and into the street. The same went for the rest of the witches and wizards in the village, who lined the cobbled streets, unable to get up due to the power exerted by Grindelwald's wand.

Tom, however, walked out of _Tomes and Scrolls_, his face set in a determined expression.

Grindelwald turned to face him, seemingly curious as to how this teenage boy could resist magic that made an entire village fall to the floor at once.

"You are a coward."

Hermione wondered for a second if the whole of time might unravel as a result of that one sentence. She braced herself for the flash of green light that would claim Tom's life, as a punishment for his nerve, but it never came.

Instead, there was a light chuckle, the skin around Grindelwald's eyes creasing as he laughed.

"Only a talentless wizard immobilises a village before he attacks," Tom said, now only a mere foot away from Grindelwald. A dozen wands were pointed at him, but Grindelwald did not raise his own.

"Ah," Tom said, smiling, "So they're not really your army, they're your body guards."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. What was he doing? And since when did Tom Riddle value bravery above a quick win? Since when did he have a sense of decency?

She tried to move, but couldn't. All the way along the streets she could see the frustrated expressions of the villagerswho were also struggling to break free from their trappings. She didn't _feel_ restricted as such, it was just that her body would not move regardless of how much she willed it to.

She could still feel the wand in her hand though, and although she couldn't move her mouth to speak, she could certainly _think_.

_Finite Incantatem._

Nothing happened. Not that she'd expected it to, in all honesty. She searched her mind, trying to grasp at a spell that might work. And then she remembered small, neat handwriting, inked in the margin of a textbook.

_Liberacorpus!_

She stayed still. Not because of any jinx or hex, but because if she moved, she would be given away. Grindelwald was sufficiently distracted by Tom, and so Hermione took her chance, whispering, "_Expecto Patronum!"_

A bright silver otter burst forth, scampering along the high street, up the uneven path that led to Hogwarts and straight through one of the windows of the castle. Grindelwald's eyes followed it, and once it had disappeared from sight, he turned to Hermione, pushing Tom aside.

"And what, may I ask, was the point in that?" he seemed amused by her actions, and his followers mirrored his expression, some of them tittering.

"Oh," Hermione said, getting to her feet. "It was merely a message to Dumbledore. Nothing to worry about."

Hermione saw, and felt, everything change abruptly. Grindelwald bristled, his eyes darkening, as the sky grew dark, sending a chill through the village. She and Grindelwald raised their wands at the same time, and he laughed, though it was a front this time. He was not remotely amused.

"You think you stand a chance against me?"

It was Hermione's turn to laugh. He had no idea that at the age of thirteen, she had helped a convicted mass murder escape to freedom, or that when she was fifteen, she had broken into the Ministry of Magic and battled Death Eaters. She wanted to tell him that she had broken into Gringott's and lived to tell the tale, that she had escaped from _the _most feared dark wizard of all time, and that _wasn't_ him.

But she couldn't, and instead she dodged to the side as he fired the first curse, shattering the window of _Tomes and Scrolls_ and setting the entire shop alight. Hermione fired a blast of _something_ at him, she didn't know what it was, but her body and brain were working independently of her mind.

Adrenalin was pumping through her and now Tom was dealing with the dozen red robed men on his _own, _but she couldn't help him because Grindelwald was taking up all of her time and attention.

"_Sectumsempra_!" she yelled, but Grindelwald dodged, and one of his followers was cut down, blood flooding the gaps in the cobbles, trickling down the sloping street.

Grindelwald's eyes widened and now he doubled his efforts, and Hermione's wand was growing so hot in her hand she thought it might explode from the number of spells surging through it. She shot a stunning spell at him, and he was distracted with blocking it when she immediately followed it up with _Obscuro_.

He was blindfolded, and in the few moments she had spare, she stunned a wizard who had his wand pointed at Tom's back, before freeing a large wizard a few spaces down, who jumped to his feet and ran to join Tom, his wand drawn.

In those moments, Grindelwald had managed to rid himself of his blindfold, but Hermione hadn't noticed; she was freeing anyone who looked like they might be able to help.

"NO!"

A jet of green light missed her by inches, and when she turned, she saw that Tom had flung himself at Grindelwald, the Killing Curse misfiring and instead hitting the sign outside the_ Three Broomsticks, _which fell onto the two students glued to the spot below it.

"Enough!"

Dumbledore's voice carried through the street with even more volume than Grindelwald's had, though he had not used a _Sonorus charm_. Grindelwald shot one last foul look at Hermione before he turned all of his attention on Dumbledore, whose usually twinkling eyes were filled with cold fury. Hermione rushed to the two students, only fourth years, by the looks of them, and set about treating their head wounds with shaking hands.

In one swift wand movement, Dumbledore had bound the remainder of Grindelwald's followers in thick black rope, and sent them shooting off up the street, far out of the way.

"You must have known," Dumbledore said coldly, "that I would protect my students. That it was foolish to come here, of all places."

A hand clamped around Hermione's wrist and she was pulled backwards, until she was pressed against the wall of Honeyduke's sweet shop. She looked to her left and saw Tom, breathing heavily, a light sweaty sheen making his pale face glisten slightly. He had been cut, a line of blood trickling down his face from his hairline.

He was still holding her wrist, and she wasn't sure she wanted him to let go.

They were blinded as the first spell was cast, and Hermione shut her eyes, unable to handle the brightness of the clashing curses.

"Let's get the students out," Tom whispered, and she nodded, opening her eyes.

She and Tom made their way along the street hurriedly, casting _Liberacorpus _at each student, then pushing them down the street, away from the duel.

History was being made behind her, and she turned briefly to watch as Grindelwald struggled to keep up with Dumbledore's rapid wand work. The air was crackling with energy, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up straight, goosebumps popping up all over her arms.

"The spell is _Liberacorpus_, get everyone back to the castle, alert the Headmaster."

Tom was instructing the prefects, who nodded and dashed off, freeing the remaining students as quickly as they could. The villagers who had helped Tom were now freeing their neighbours and friends, helping them to their feet, though none of them sought cover. They were transfixed by the duel that was happening before them, watching in awe as spells splintered, veering off course and inflicting their damage on the surrounding buildings instead.

And then, with one final, retina-burning blast of white light, it was over. None of them could actually see what had happened, but when their eyes had readjusted, Grindelwald was secured to a street lamp by heavy golden chains.

Dumbledore moved forward and bent down to pick up the Elder Wand, examining it briefly before slipping it into his pocket.

The hallows could wait.

Several wizards apparated into the street, their wands immediately finding Grindelwald, though he was quite unable to escape.

The next few minutes whizzed by in a blur of inaudible conversations between Dumbledore and the Aurors and residents of the village begin the repair work on their homes. Finally, Gellert Grindelwald and his followers were taken away, and Dumbledore approached Tom and Hermione.

Tom was _still_ holding her wrist.

When Dumbledore reached them, he looked tired, haggard, more so than Hermione had ever seen him, future or present. He placed a shaky hand on Hermione's right shoulder, and his other on Tom's left.

"You did wonderfully," he said, his voice quiet and laboured. "I daresay there would have been many innocent lives lost today were it not for you, Tom, and you, Hermione."

"And you," Hermione added firmly, meeting his eye. "Don't forget yourself, Professor."

"It was your message, that brought me here, and the two of you that delayed him long enough to protect the others. You have both shown extraordinary courage, and I could not be more proud of you."

"How did you send the message?"

Tom had remained silent until now, but he had turned his attention from Dumbledore to Hermione.

"Patronus," Hermione said simply. She looked at Dumbledore, hoping he would say something so she didn't have to go into any further detail. She didn't want to give too much away about the Order's communication secrets, but Dumbledore looked just as curious as Tom did.

"We should go back to the castle," Dumbledore said, blinking and standing up straight, removing his hands from their shoulders. It was only now that Hermione realised just how much weight he had been resting on them.

"Professor, are you all right?" she asked.

"Just tired," he held up a trembling hand in a gesture that suggested she was not to worry, but Hermione's concern only grew.

She summoned one of the carriages and it arrived in seconds, its door springing open for them. As they were about to get in however, they were distracted, by the sound of someone clapping. Hermione turned, and the noise grew and grew as the whole village applauded loudly, abandoning their repair work to show their gratitude. Hermione tried to climb inside the carriage but Dumbledore pulled her back, holding her in place until, a full minute and a half later, the noise died down. Dumbledore nodded, and finally, they were inside the carriage and on their way back up to the castle.

They were silent for most of the journey, and Dumbledore gazed out of the window absently, the corners of his mouth slanted down grimly. Hermione knew what was on his mind. Grindelwald had once been his friend, his _best friend_, and it had finally come down to the one thing that Dumbledore had wished to avoid for so long.

Why had Grindelwald shown up in Hogsmeade? Had he planned to take over the British wizarding community also? Had he thought that starting at Hogsmeade and moving on to Hogwarts was the smartest idea?

And why had he only brought a dozen of his followers? Hermione knew from her History of Magic lessons that Grindelwald had vast armies at his command. He could have brought hundreds, thousands of wizards, and yet he had simply shown up with twelve.

"Did he think he could take over the village with just twelve wizards?" Hermione asked.

"Well _I'm_ glad he thought he could," Tom said. "I'm not sure I could have handled any more than that."

"He and his followers made thirteen," Dumbledore said quietly. "It was his lucky number."

"His _lucky_ number?" Tom said in disbelief. "Didn't he think he might have been much better off with five hundred and twelve as his lucky number?"

"He's an old man these days, Tom. Like me. Old men are rather set in their ways," Dumbledore sighed, "And besides, he likes to disable his opponents before they can touch him. It's never usually a problem. His armies protect Nurmengard. Those twelve who were with him were his most gifted fighters. You must have duelled very well."

Tom said nothing, though only the slightest hint of a smirk touched his lips, just for a second. It seemed, to Hermione at least, that he, like her, had an odd, hollow feeling in his chest that wouldn't allow him to feel any sense of triumph or joy, no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps it was simply shock, but the events of the past hour were yet to sink in, despite the fact that they were playing on a constant loop in Hermione's head.

"How did the pair of you break his _Debilitating jinx_?" Dumbledore asked after another short silence.

"I took my wand out before he cast it. It was in my hand...I just cast the counter-charm."

Dumbledore nodded and the pair of them looked at Tom for an answer.

"I had anticipated his actions - I read about him in the library, the way he does things - and cast a shield charm at the right moment."

Eventually they reached the castle, and the door was yanked open by Professor Merrythought with a strength Hermione never imagined she might have.

"Albus..."

"The Ministry have him," Dumbledore told her, climbing stiffly from the carriage.

Professor Merrythought sagged in relief, and as Hermione hauled herself out of her seat and out of the carriage, she saw Professor Dippet hurrying down the front steps.

"Albus! Is it safe? Where is he?"

Dumbledore held up a hand and he fell silent, until his eyes landed on Hermione and Tom.

"Miss Grey! Tom! What -"

"Shall we go inside, Armando? I need to sit down."

Hermione felt immensely awkward as a tear fell from Dippet's eye.

"You saved the students," he said weakly, addressing Tom and Hermione.

"Special Award for Services to the School, don't you think, Armando?" Dumbledore suggested, picking up his cup of tea and sipping it gently.

"Oh to hell with Special Awards, Albus! I'll write to the Minister at once. Order of Merlin, without a doubt! Second class I imagine, though first, for you, Albus, that goes without saying. They've probably already engraved your name on the plaque!" A flick of Dippet's wand set his quill in motion. "Minty!" he called, and a bright eyed house elf apparated into the office, ready to take command.

"Minty at your service, Master!"

"Have the elves prepare a feast for this evening, Minty, we have lots to celebrate!"

"Minty has heard! News has travelled already, Master. Minty wishes to congratulate Professor Dumbledore on his great achievement!" the elf sunk into a low bow before Dumbledore, who just about managed to smile at the elf when he straightened up. The elf disappeared with a _crack,_ and Dippet turned to Tom and Hermione.

"You'd best get yourselves cleaned up and rested for this evening," he said. "I cannot even begin to express how proud and grateful I am, and I don't doubt the rest of the staff and students feel the same way."

Hermione got to her feet, and looked at Dumbledore. She wanted to say something to him, tell him how important today would be in history, tell him how people would talk about it for years to come, that he was a _hero_. But she thought the words would sound rather lame, coming from her young mouth, that it was not her place, as a student, to comment on Dumbledore's personal feelings, so instead, she left without saying a word, and simply gave his shoulder a soft squeeze, in the hope that it communicated all the things that she didn't have the guts to say.

"You used dark magic," Tom said, once they were well out of earshot of the Headmaster's office.

"So did you," Hermione said, looking straight ahead.

"Where did you learn it?"

Hermione ignored the question, and instead asked one of her own. "Why did you challenge him?"

Tom paused before answering, and Hermione glanced across at him. She could tell he was wondering whether he ought to answer at all.

"Because he was going to ambush Hogwarts. I knew he was. He wanted to keep us quiet and out the way, and he was going to sneak in and destroy it from the inside out."

"How could you be sure?"

"I..." Tom trailed off. "I read one of his followers' minds. I couldn't let them do it. This is the only place I've got. It's my _home_."

Hermione closed her fingers gently around Tom's wrist, and he looked at her for the briefest moment.

"You saved my life," he said as they rounded a corner and reached the staircase. They stopped. This was where they parted ways.

"You saved mine," Hermione said.

"We'll call it even, shall we?" and with that, he descended the steps smoothly, glancing up at her one last time when he reached the bottom, before disappearing from sight.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**: Hi guys! Here we are at chapter 9! Not sure if the next update _will_ be Friday, I haven't started writing it yet and my 21st birthday is probably going to disrupt my life in the inconvenient way that birthdays do. But yes, hope this one is enough to tide you over until I _do_ update. Thanks for all your reviews of the last chapter, I'm thrilled that you liked the action and all that bizniz, and I hope you like this one too.

* * *

**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

When she arrived in the common room, Hermione was greeted by a deafening cheer. The other Ravenclaws swamped her, patting her roughly on the back, pulling her into hugs, wringing her hands while offering words that she couldn't hear due to the noise and confusion of it all. She thought briefly that this was how Harry must have felt, after beating the Horntail, or how Ron had felt when Gryffindor had won the quidditch cup in fifth year. She, however, had never experienced such madness, at least not until now.

She noticed Amelia, standing halfway up the staircase, surrounded by first years who wanted to get a good look at the scene. She was shaking her head in disbelief, and mouthed a confused '_what the hell?_' over the heads of the other students. Hermione simply laughed, and soon she was granted some breathing space as the entire house fell silent, wanting to hear exactly what had happened.

"But _how_ could you duel Grindelwald and still be alive?" a second year asked. "_No one's_ as good as Grindelwald."

"Except Dumbledore," a fifth year snorted. "Seriously though, what was it like? The prefects made us go back so we didn't get to see," he shot a look at a girl in his year with a shining prefect badge sitting proudly on her chest and she ignored him.

"The prefects made you go back under Tom's instruction. It's what Dumbledore would have done. I think you'd much rather have missed the duel than be hit by one of those curses," Hermione said firmly, feeling it was her duty as a former prefect to stick up for them.

"And that reminds me," the fifth year continued, "how the hell did Tom duel a dozen wizards at once? I bet he used dark magic, didn't he?" he looked at Hermione for an answer, and she didn't know what to tell him. It was true, Tom had used dark magic, but so had she.

"Sometimes the only way to fight fire is with fire," she said, hoping she didn't sound like she was advocating the use of the dark arts _too _much. "I don't think a _Jelly-legs jinx _would have done much damage, do you?"

"So Dumbledore's wrong then, love isn't more powerful than magic._ Dark_ magic is more powerful than magic."

"I think you rather missed his point," Hermione said, frowning. "There's a feast tonight," she added, slowly making her way towards the stairs in the hope that if she was still talking, they wouldn't notice her escape. "To celebrate."

An excited bout of chatter broke out and Hermione took her chance, hurrying up the stairs to the dormitory followed by Amelia, Grace and Maggie.

"They said you laughed in his face," Maggie sat down heavily on her bed, crossing her legs and waiting for Hermione to dish out even more details than she had given in the common room.

"And that you sent a message to Dumbledore using a _Patronus_," Grace added.

"Never mind that," Amelia said, sitting down on the end of Hermione's bed. "You _duelled_ Grindelwald! That's insane!"

Hermione had to agree with her, though something had been troubling her from the moment she had raised her wand to him. She had never read anything about Hermione Grey or Tom Riddle in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. Nor had Professor Binns ever spoke of them in History of Magic. And if they _were_ going to get the Order of Merlin, second class or otherwise, why weren't their names printed in every textbook she had ever read about Grindelwald?

Would their names be written down from now on? Had she inadvertently gone and changed time? Dumbledore had never said anything about Tom standing up to Grindelwald, never mentioned that he might have had one scrap of decency in him at any point.

She couldn't do much about it now, however. And what she wanted most of all was a long soak in a large bubbly bath. Deciding she wouldn't be very popular if she spent the next hour and a half hogging the bathroom, Hermione gathered a fresh change of clothes and her wash bag, told the others she would see them at the feast, and set off to the Room of Requirement.

It was even nicer than the Prefect's bathroom. Granted, the bath wasn't the size of a swimming pool, but everything about it was more luxurious, the towels fresh and fluffy, the bubbles soft and fragrant, and the water that filled the tub stayed exactly the right temperature all the time she was in there.

When she arrived in the Great Hall, she realised she ought to have stayed in the bath, regardless of how wrinkled and prune-like her fingertips and toes became. It was even more overwhelming than her return to the common room. The scraping of benches as everyone stood caused her to wince, and as the clapping and cheering began, she felt her cheeks redden in a hot blush, then hurried to the spot saved for her between Amelia and Grace. She looked toward Tom, who was standing with the Slytherins, who were only clapping because he had been involved as well, and whatever Tom decided was the right thing to do, was the right thing to do for the entire house.

"Did he get the same treatment?" Hermione asked once Grace had taken her seat again.

"Yeah. No idea what it's going to be like when Dumbledore walks in though, I'm not sure how much clapping my hands can take!"

Hermione glanced to the Professor's empty chair at the staff table. Dippet was frowning next to it, and checked his pocket watch, his frown deepening.

An owl glided into the hall, coming to rest in front of the headmaster, who took the letter from its beak and read it quickly. The owl fluttered off and Dippet put the letter down with a sigh. He stood up and cleared his throat, all conversations ceasing instantly.

"I'm afraid Professor Dumbledore won't be joining us for our celebrations this evening. He is very tired and has a long week ahead at the Ministry. He asks that we enjoy the feast without him."

A wave of disappointment swept over the students, all of whom wanted to lay eyes upon the hero of the hour.

"D'you think he's all right?" Maggie asked, leaning across the table so the others could hear her among the whispered conversations that had erupted all over the hall.

Hermione bit her lip. He had been in a bad state after the duel, but perhaps he _was _just tired.

Or...perhaps he felt he didn't deserve the congratulations. Perhaps he felt ashamed, for avoiding the fight until the very last minute. Perhaps he simply wanted to be left alone to his memories.

Food appeared all along the table and arms reached across in every direction, their owners helping themselves to a bit of everything. It looked fantastic, as good as any Hogwarts feast she had ever been to, but it was wasted on her. She was far too busy being concerned about Dumbledore to give the painstakingly prepared food on the table the attention it deserved.

* * *

The Easter holidays passed in a whirlwind of revision and library visits. Hermione, Amelia, Grace and Maggie spent their days in the library, shooting dark looks at anyone who so much as breathed too loudly.

Often, Hermione would look up and see Tom, sitting at the table by the window, leisurely reading a book that was of no relevance to their upcoming exams. He sometimes met her eye, and a few of those times, offered an uncertain half smile, before returning to his book.

She thought, perhaps, that they had come to some sort of unspoken agreement. Neither of them had uttered a word to each other since the day of the duel, but things felt friendlier, less tense, and less competitive. They had both proved their skill to each other, and both saved each other's lives, and as such, a reluctant respect and gratitude had arisen.

The one thing that had nagged at her mind, ever since they had left Dippet's office on the day of the battle, was his admission that he was able to use Legilimency. He had read the mind of one of Grindelwald's followers, and the man hadn't even realised. What if he'd read _her_ mind without her realising? What if he had seen everything about the future and was now going to make split his soul into _eight_, or _nine_, or _ten_? What if he was going to do everything he possibly could to make sure Harry would never defeat him?

What if he _won_?

Her mind was so full of hypothetical questions and her revision was suffering as a result. She watched him, in the library, and eventually she bit the bullet, getting up and striding over to his table, taking a seat opposite him.

"Hello," he said, looking up from his notes. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You can read minds," Hermione said.

Tom placed his notes to one side and laced his long fingers together, resting his chin against them. He said nothing. It hadn't been a question after all.

Hermione didn't know how to follow up on her bold statement, and eventually Tom spoke.

"I suppose you want me to find out something for you? Whether the teachers think you're more brilliant than I am, perhaps?"

"No," Hermione replied. "I want to know if you've read my mind."

He shifted in his seat but remained silent.

"Well?" Hermione demanded, her tone sharper than it ought to be in the library.

"I only wanted to find out what you'd _heard_," Tom said quietly. "I didn't mean to see..."

"When?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"Oh you must know when," Tom muttered, "I thought for sure you'd realised how much I'd seen...the way you looked at me, and then later on when you looked _ill_."

Hermione frowned, still confused as to what he was talking about. She had looked at him so many times in the past few weeks, and the stress of the upcoming exams meant that she was asked three times a day whether she thought she should go to the Hospital Wing.

"In the corridor," he said, as though it were obvious. "You know, when everybody thought we were...you know. When they were gossiping."

And now it made sense. She had thought of Harry and Ron and her parents non-stop that day, after their exchange. She hadn't realised it at the time but he must have made all the memories of her friends and family resurface after she'd spent weeks and weeks forcing them down.

"Well I hope it was an interesting read," Hermione whispered, fighting the hysteria that was trying to swallow her up. All of her hypothetical questions were no longer hypothetical, they were _just questions._

"It's why I stopped him," he said, glancing around to make sure they didn't have an uninvited audience. "I saw what had happened to the castle in your head and I _couldn't_..." he trailed off. "I don't want that to ever happen to the castle. It's the only thing I've _got_. And then when I saw that _he_ was thinking the same thing...that he wanted to make it _happen_..."

Tom ran a hand through his dark hair and Hermione watched as he fiddled with anything that was on the desk, flicking pages of books, pushing his ink pot around with his index finger, rolling his quill backwards and forwards until Hermione was sick of the noise and put her hand on his, stopping him in his tracks. He looked down at their hands, and then into her eyes, and Hermione took her hand away.

"Don't," she said quietly.

He linked his hands together and looked down at the table.

"You're from the future aren't you?" he said at last.

Hermione could see no way out of this, and she nodded.

"I've changed time, haven't I?"

Hermione couldn't honestly tell him anything for certain. After all, there was no record of the two of them fighting Grindelwald in the history books, but at the same time, Dumbledore still defeated him.

"The castle was supposed to be destroyed, wasn't it? People were supposed to die."

"No," Hermione said, "Dumbledore won."

"So does he escape then? Does he come back and try to get revenge?"

Hermione could tell he was worried, for the castle, mostly, but partly for himself. He had been the one to take a stand against Grindelwald, and he clearly thought that after Dumbledore was finished, Grindelwald would be coming after him and Hermione next.

Hermione had to try and hold in the sigh of relief that was threatening to escape her. He had thought it was _Grindelwald_ who had attacked the castle. He hadn't put himself _anywhere_ in there at all. Luckily, he hadn't seen _anything _about himself, which was amazing, considering that for the last seven years he had taken up a solid, ever expanding corner of her mind.

"Does he?" Tom asked again, and Hermione blinked.

"I can't tell you that," she said. "You must have read about the laws."

"To _hell_ with the laws."

Hermione shook her head and stood up. Tom sighed, his normal expression of complete composure returning once more.

"We've got a date for the ceremony, it's next Friday," he said.

Hermione frowned. "Which ceremony?"

"Order of Merlin," Tom replied, turning a page in his book. "We got second class in the end, Dippet says that we would have got first, but then there wouldn't have been any higher award to give to _Dumbledore_..."

"He _did_ defeat him," Hermione reasoned upon hearing Tom's sour tone. "We would have ended up dead in the end, we wouldn't have won."

Tom said nothing and after a moment's hesitation, she sat back down again. He glanced up, the intensity of his stare making her shrink back in her seat.

"Something else?" he asked.

"Yes, actually," Hermione said, toying with the hem of her sleeve. "Something I wanted to ask you actually."

"Well ask away then," Tom said, sitting up straight in his chair, pushing his book to one side.

Hermione's brow creased as she tried to come up with the right combination of words. She couldn't, and so she settled for a very straight forward, matter of fact, "Why did you save my life?"

Tom's fingers tapped gently on the desk, his dark eyebrows arching as he considered his answer.

"Well why wouldn't I?"

"Yes but you risked your _own_ life."

"I didn't really think about it," he said, pulling his book back towards him. Hermione reached out and took it from him, shaking her head.

"That's not a proper answer."

"Well it's the only answer you're getting," Tom replied, a hint of a smirk gracing his lips. He pulled the book from her hands delicately and opened it to the page he had been looking at.

"Fine," Hermione said, folding her arms.

"Why did you save mine?"

"I didn't think about it," she responded coolly, and Tom allowed a full smirk to form this time, his lips curving in triumph and amusement.

It was partly true, she hadn't thought about it, but she had been thinking about it ever since.

Tom Riddle would have died, and Voldemort along with him, if it weren't for her. She had sealed the fate of the world with one curse. With one curse, she had ensured the rise of Lord Voldemort.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Made it! Skipped class, but you know, it's a crap class run by a deluded hippy so it's not technically a class. Hope you enjoy this chapter, thanks for all the birthday wishes, you're very lovely. I shall think of you whilst eating cake. ;)

* * *

**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

"Good morning class, my name is Professor Lovencourt, I shall be taking your class while Professor Dumbledore is on temporary leave."

"Why is he on leave?" Leonard Carver, a seventh year Gryffindor asked with no sense of tact or delicacy.

"My dear boy," Professor Lovencourt said, lowering her glasses so she could peer at him over the rims, "he has just recently defeated the most dark wizard our world has ever seen, don't you think he deserves a holiday?"

"So it _is_ just a holiday then?" Amber, another Gryffindor piped up, twirling her curly hair around her index finger. "He's not ill, or injured or anything?"

"Certainly _not_," Professor Lovencourt said with a slight huff, as though the idea that Dumbledore could ever get ill or injured was completely and utterly bizarre. "He missed out on his Easter break due to all the business with the Wizengamot, and he has a speech to prepare for when he is awarded his Order of Merlin. The man is rather busy. I don't know why you're spending so much time focused on it when your exams are just a mere three weeks away. We should have started the lesson five minutes ago!"

In any other subject, Professor Lovencourt would have been considered a good teacher. However, after first having Professor McGonagall as her Transfiguration professor, and then Professor Dumbledore, Hermione couldn't help but lose her concentration, and even began doodling around the edge of her parchment. The whole class had sunk into a stupor that Professor Binns would be proud of, even Tom looked like he was missing Dumbledore, and that was saying something.

He tapped her on the shoulder as they shuffled out of the classroom.

"I need to talk to you."

She followed him into an empty classroom to escape the hustle and bustle of the corridors, her eyes lingering on the door handle after he had closed it, blocking out all chatter from the students outside.

"We're getting our robes fitted this afternoon," he said. "Dippet asked me to tell you."

"Robes?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows contorted into a frown. "What robes?"

"For the ceremony," Tom explained with a roll of his eyes. "We need some fancy dress robes and Dippet's footing the bill. I just want to know how long we can draw out this whole saving everybody from certain death business, who knows _what_ we might get out of the old codger..."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Oh you must have realised I don't actually _like_ him," Tom said hurriedly. "Don't act like it's news."

"He's been very generous to you," Hermione said, in a tone that painfully reminded her of her mother. "Don't take advantage."

"Taking advantage is what I'm best at."

"I know," Hermione said sadly. "I just wish you'd do something else instead."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Tom asked sharply.

Hermione looked up and met his eye. "You deserve the Order of Merlin," she said, "You can be a good man when you want to be. The trouble is, you _don't_ want to be."

"There's no such thing as good and evil," he said, stepping forward. "Only power."

Hermione stepped away, the backs of her thighs knocking into a dusty desk, causing its legs to scrape loudly against the floor.

"We took on Grindelwald and his followers, and we won. We would have beaten him, together, you know we would," his voice was almost a whisper now, and she could feel his breath against her face, causing her heart to beat furiously against her rib cage as though it wanted to break out of her chest altogether.

"Think what we could achieve together," he reached out and closed his long pale fingers around her wrist, stroking his thumb over her pulse point.

"You stopped Grindelwald because you're a good person," Hermione said, failing to keep the shake from her voice.

"I stopped him because he was trying to get power over the place I call home. That power rests with the headmaster for now, but one day, it _will_ be mine."

"Let go of me," Hermione whispered, and he took his hand away from her wrist instantly, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips, as though he was examining the sensation of touching her.

She slipped out between him and the desk and went over to the door, turning the door handle with a trembling hand, trying to shield her nerves with her body. She knew it would do no good, the second she had stepped away from him she had admitted defeat. He knew she was unsettled, perhaps even scared, and she didn't look back to see the smirk on his face. It seemed their non-verbal almost friendship over Easter had fizzled out the second that the subject of the award ceremony cropped up, and though she realised she ought not to be surprised, there was a pang of disappointment and hurt in her heart. She was a fool, she realised. She should have realised it would have been about getting Grindelwald out of the way, rather than saving his home. That had been a load of old rubbish that she should have been smart enough to not swallow.

"Remember, three o'clock," Tom said, and Hermione realised she was still standing in the doorway, lost in her thoughts. He shifted her gently but swiftly to one side and walked past her, his shoes clacking on the stone floor with each step he took away from her.

It was a good job that Hermione was finishing the day early. Her head was all over the place and by the time three o'clock rolled around she was unable to face another second of her education. She had been caught out four times by questions she had not heard, and it was with a reddened face and sheepish expression that she had had to ask her Professors to repeat themselves.

She and Tom walked in silence down to the entrance hall, and out of the front doors, where a thestral drawn carriage was waiting for them. It was the first time Hermione had seen one, and she paused to take in the sight of its skeletal form, its dark, shining eyes, and its soft mane, rogue strands of which were fluttering in the wind.

Tom opened the carriage door and gestured for her to enter ahead of him. It was difficult, dealing with such a gentlemanly gesture after their run in that morning, and even more difficult when her brain reminded her that neither Harry nor Ron had ever opened a carriage door for her. She consoled herself throughout the journey with the idea that this was because they saw her as an equal who was perfectly capable of opening her own carriage door. This was true, but even so, a little chivalry never went amiss, even with the most independent of women.

The carriage came to a juddering halt outside _Gladrags Wizard Wear_ and they stepped out onto the cobbled street.

The bell rang as they entered the shop, and the witch in charge came rushing forward, wringing their hands enthusiastically, telling them all about how she saw them duelling and what a magnificent sight it was and how the whole village would be eternally grateful to them and Dumbledore. Hermione smiled awkwardly as she was measured, while Tom managed some polite responses. He caught her eye as he was ushered onto the small stool, and Hermione could tell he was as anxious to leave as she was.

Hermione tried to block out the babble, and eventually the chatter petered out, the witch realising that they weren't in the mood for talking. Tom was issued with a simple yet elegant tuxedo style set of robes, but Hermione's rather more extravagant outfit was taking a lot longer to get right.

Tom watched from a wicker chair, the side of his face resting on the palm of his hand, while his expression shifted from polite interest, to total indifference and final to utter, brain destroying, boredom.

"What d'you think Mr Riddle?" the witch asked, turning towards Tom with a bright smile. "Doesn't she look beautiful?"

Tom looked Hermione up and down as she stood on the stool, fiddling with the fabric of her robes.

"Stunnning," he said, then added a charming smile for good measure, which caused the witch to giggle as though she were six years old, before removing the robes from Hermione and wrapping them neatly in brown paper.

It was with a great deal of relief that they left the shop, and they walked in silence along the high street towards the carriage, which was waiting patiently for their return.

"Would you like to get a butterbeer before we go back?"

"Sure," Hermione said, and they veered off course and into the Three Broomsticks.

This had been a mistake.

An argument had broken out as soon as they had reached the bar. A little old witch who was teetering on a bar stool that looked like it was taller than she was had said that she would buy their drinks, and slopped the remainder of her sherry down the front of her robes as she gave a jerky hiccup. The wizard sitting a few feet further down had said no, that he would buy the drinks, that it was the least he could do after they had saved his family.

"You're not the only one with a family," the old lady said, waving her empty sherry glass about.

Mr Rosmerta's eyes darted between the two like he was watching a particularly slow tennis match.

"_I _shall buy the gentleman and the lady a drink." A flamboyantly dressed wizard complete with top hat and monocle stepped forward, sinking into a low bow and removing his hat in a dramatic show of deference.

"Who in blazes are you?" the other wizard demanded.

"He isn't even from round here!" the old witch squawked, "it's _our_ village they saved, not yours! Find your own heroes!" she hiccuped again, and Hermione was sure the action lifted her at least an inch off of her seat.

"But they freed _my_ children and saw that they were returned to safety," the monocled wizard said in a smooth voice that carried over the mutterings of the other drinkers.

"Let's go," Tom said quietly in her ear, and he tapped his wand on the top of Hermione's head. The familiar feeling of a disillusionment charm trickled over her skin, and she felt his fingers close around her wrist (though she could not see them) and he led her between the pub's varyingly drunken clientèle and out once more into Hogsmeade high street.

"I bet the real reason Dumbledore's not in," Tom said as they climbed into the carriage. He tapped his wand on Hermione's head, lifting the disillusionment charm, and then tapped his own head. "Is because he has the biggest hangover anybody has ever seen. He's probably been sent enough Firewhisky and mead to last him a lifetime."

Hermione said nothing. She knew Dumbledore's absence had nothing to do with alcohol, and certainly nothing to do with catching up on his Easter holidays. Nothing so trivial would ever stop him from teaching, especially not when they were so close to their exams. No, the real reason was most likely that he couldn't bear to face his students, couldn't bear to be congratulated for defeating a man who he had once been so heavily involved with, who once he had shared ideas and plans with. He couldn't bear to be congratulated for acting only at the last possible minute.

She half wondered if he would even be at the ceremony, if, perhaps, he might even refuse the award.

No, he wouldn't do that. His chocolate frog card proved that he wouldn't do that.

* * *

Grace had said a very rude word when Hermione had shown her, Amelia and Maggie her dress robes, later that evening in their dormitory.

"I mean," she said at Amelia's raised eyebrow, "I mean they're very lovely."

"This is _so_ exciting," Maggie said, spreading the top half of the robes neatly over the bed so she could inspect the tiny details. She trailed a finger along the neckline delicately, then looked up at Hermione. "Can't we come?"

"I asked," Hermione sighed, leaning back against her headboard. "But apparently you all need to be in lessons because of the exams."

"_You've_ got exams too," Maggie said sulkily.

"Yeah, but Hermione and Tom don't _need_ NEWTs. People'll be chucking job offers at them left right and centre. They've proved that they're brilliant already," Amelia reasoned, and her eyes lingered on the dress in a wistful fashion.

"The Ministry said our families can come," Hermione told them sourly. "Which is a fat load of good seeing as neither Tom nor I actually _have_ families."

The three girls fell silent and it was a few moments before Hermione realised a solitary tear was rolling down her cheek. This was followed by another, and another. She sniffed, trying to regain control of her emotions, and Grace sat down on the edge of her bed, pulling her into a hug.

She had never said it out loud before. The knowledge that her parents were still alive in the future didn't really mean anything, seeing as she was trapped in the past. She had only ever hinted to Amelia that she was entirely alone, but saying it out loud made it even more real than it needed to be. He parents were safe, she had made sure of that before she had left to go to the Burrow, but she was never going to see them again. She would never be on the receiving end of a reproachful glare when she brought home some Honeydukes sweets. She would never again explain to a tired and confused father just how floo powder actually worked.

She'd never see her own bedroom again.

Grace gave her a final squeeze before moving away from her slightly. "You have got a family," she said, "Even if the Ministry doesn't recognise it as one."

Maggie and Amelia nodded in agreement, and Hermione thought she might be overcome by a fresh wave of tears. She managed to hold them down.

"I'll be back in a minute," Maggie said, and ignoring the confused stares from her dorm mates, she disappeared out of the room and down the spiral staircase.

Grace shrugged her shoulders, got up, and picked up Hermione's dress robes, placing them carefully on a wooden hanger and hooking them over one of the beams of Hermione's four poster.

"Last thing you need is creased dress robes," she said matter of factly. "You need to look your best, so some rich Ministry twerp will fall in love with you and buy you nice things."

"I think Hermione's going to be able to buy her own nice things," Amelia said.

"Yeah, but everything's better when you haven't paid for it," Grace said with a smirk, "and it's even better when you haven't paid for it because you're pretty."

Amelia tutted and rolled her eyes. "I do despair for the future of witches' rights..."

Maggie returned a short while later, levitating a silver tray in front of her. It had a large domed cover hiding the contents from view, and Maggie lifted it up with a flourish, revealing a rich chocolate cake, complete with chocolate icing on top. On top of that, there was some iced writing.

_Hermione Grey._

_Order of Merlin._

"I thought it was a good excuse for cake," Maggie said, producing a knife and handing it to Hermione.

"You think it's a good excuse for cake if the day's got a _Y_ in it," Amelia retorted, though she was eyeing the cake eagerly.

"Shut it," Maggie said. "Hermione," she paused dramatically, "Get cutting."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** It's a little late, for which I apologise, but that's mostly because I've been updating an _old old_ fic this week. For any of the Whovians here (and I know there are some) Desert Storm is up and running again. And there's a one shot called 'At Eternity's Gate'. But enough shameless self advertisement. Thank you for the reviews of the last chapter, we've crossed the 200 mark! I hope you enjoy this chapter, let me know what you think! =]

* * *

**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

"You'll be staying at the Ministry this evening," Dippet said, hands clasped together. "There's a hospitality wing for occasions such as this. You'll be well looked after."

"What time is the ceremony, Professor?" Hermione asked, fiddling with her sleeve. Now that she was actually ready to depart, and realised that the next time she set foot in Hogwarts she would have an Order of Merlin, she was feeling very, very sick.

"Eleven o'clock," Dippet replied. "Make sure you're up and ready on time. Professor Dumbledore will come to collect you at half past ten."

"Excellent," Tom said, smirking slightly. "Thank you, Professor."

"Into the fire you go," Dippet said. "Unless there are any further questions?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Very good. I shall see you tomorrow morning. Good luck." He beamed at them, his brown eyes sparkling in a way that almost reminded Hermione of Professor Dumbledore.

"After you," Tom said, gesturing towards the fireplace.

Hermione held her travelling bag close to her chest, threw a handful of floo powder into the fireplace, and stepped into the crackling emerald flames.

* * *

"Merlin's beard..." Tom said, as the red robed Ministry worker showed Hermione her room.

It was a bit more upmarket than the Leaky Cauldron, that was for sure. Every single surface, every single fabric, every single piece of furniture and every single ornament oozed opulence into the air. The air inside her room felt thicker, in a nice way, in the sort of way that melted chocolate was thicker than water and much, _much_ more satisfying.

"If you need anything, Miss, you can just right the bell," the wizard pointed towards a large brass bell hanging next to the bed. "Dinner will be served at seven in the dining hall at the end of the corridor."

"Thank you," Hermione said, trying to keep the grin on her face under control. Tom raised his eyebrows at her, before the door was shut and he was led away to his own room.

Hermione placed her travelling bag carefully on the desk - another gift from Professor Dippet, Tom had one too - and walked slowly around the edge of the room, trying to commit every single detail to memory. She would only have two nights here, but she wanted to remember it for the rest of her life. She had been impressed with Ravenclaw tower, but this room, this huge room that looked like it was an old Hollywood film set, made the charm of Ravenclaw tower pale in comparison.

The child within her could keep quiet no longer, and she ran towards the gigantic four poster bed and belly flopped onto it, burying her face in the sweet smelling silk bedspread. The mattress felt like it was made of cotton wool, and part of her wanted to skip out on the ceremony and stay in bed until the Ministry forcibly removed her.

There was a quiet knock at the door and Hermione sat up, flattening her hair down in an effort to look sophisticated.

"Yes?"

The door opened. Tom slipped into the room and shut it behind him with a quiet _snap_.

"Pretty good, isn't it?" he said.

"Is your room the same?"

"Yes," he meandered through the chaise longues, thin legged end tables and large marble statues until he reached the bed, and sat down next to Hermione. "These are the rooms where Ministers of other countries stay," he told her. "Imagine _living_ here. I'm going to live here one day."

"I'm sure the novelty would wear off soon enough," Hermione said. "There's only so much joy a giant bed and a bowl of fresh fruit can bring you."

Tom merely raised an eyebrow. Hermione's cheeks reddened.

"You _know_ that wasn't what I meant," she said, slapping him on the arm.

Tom smirked. "This time tomorrow we'll be drinking champagne with the most powerful people in the world," he said, and he lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "While everyone else will be holed up in their common rooms revising for their exams...life is sweet, don't you think?"

"_I_ should be revising for my exams," Hermione argued, frowning at him. "And so should you."

"We don't _need_ good exams results. We could get Ts on everything and not one single person would care. We'd have any job we wanted...and wherever we worked they'd have to put 'Order of Merlin, Second Class' on our name plaques. We're not just _ordinary_ anymore...though I don't really suppose I ever was just _ordinary_."

"Extraordinarily arrogant, perhaps. But ordinary in all other aspects."

Tom sat up and gave her a dark look.

"I'm more extraordinary than you know."

Hermione said nothing. She knew just how 'extraordinary' he was, and she didn't much like the idea of explaining _how_ she knew.

* * *

"I feel like we ought to have dressed up," Hermione whispered, hoping the red robed wizard standing guard by the dining hall door couldn't hear her.

"Never mind," Tom said, pausing to take a sip of his wine. "Just eat."

Hermione didn't like being at the centre of a cavernous room, much less while she was eating at a table laden with fine silverware, goblets of expensive wine, and piles upon piles of delicately prepared and presented food. It was like she and Tom were in a palace, with only the servants as silent, ever watching company. It made her feel uneasy, and when their table was cleared for the last time, relief swept over her, knowing that the ordeal was almost at an end. If she couldn't handle dinner with Tom, she had no idea how she was supposed to get through a fully fledged ceremonial banquet the following evening. Dumbledore would be the centre of attention though, and that was absolutely fine by her. She imagined that Tom wouldn't be so happy about that, but that was his problem.

She had only had the one goblet of wine, but she could feel the effects as she walked slowly, and with a slight wobble back to her room.

"Don't forget," Tom said. "Half past ten. Set your alarm."

"Yeah, yeah," Hermione waved a dismissive hand towards him and he disappeared into his room. She wondered, with a hint of bitterness, why her room had to be at the very end of the corridor. Her head felt fuzzy, and the lights were glaring, causing her to squint at the door numbers until she found her room.

She didn't bother getting undressed, she didn't bother setting her alarm either, she just collapsed face first onto the bed, fully clothed, and fell asleep instantly.

* * *

"I knew this would happen."

She groaned into her pillow, and lashed out at the person who was shaking her roughly.

"Get _up_."

Hermione rolled over and opened her eyes. Tom was standing there, in a dark green dressing gown with matching slippers.

She giggled.

"_What_?" he demanded.

_Lord Voldemort in a dressing gown. That's what_.

"Nothing," she said, wiping the sleep from her eyes, hoping that her arm was shielding her smile from view.

"We need to be ready in an hour and you're not even up," he said huffily. "I will not have this ceremony delayed because you didn't fix your hair on time."

Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed herself up from the bed, still feeling a little bit shaky on her feet.

"Are you _hungover_?" Tom asked incredulously.

"No," Hermione said, grabbing onto the back of a chaise longue to steady herself. "What on earth makes you think that?"

"You're hungover on _one _glass of wine. _Merlin_. Do us all a favour and stay away from the champagne tonight, all right? The last thing we need is you vomiting over the Minister."

Hermione sneered at him, but had no comeback. "Get out, I need a shower."

"I thought I might stay and watch," he smirked, his dark eyes sparkling with glee.

"It'll be the last thing you ever see if you do," Hermione growled. "Now _out!_"

Tom sighed loudly and left the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Hermione locked it, before heading into the bathroom.

As soon as she saw the bath, she knew it would be a huge mistake to get in it. The tub was deep, with clawed feet and shining silver taps. The porcelain was almost blindingly white, as was everything in the room, but the sun was streaming in through the window, light bouncing off of the bath and straight into Hermione's sensitive eyes.

She would not have a bath. If she had a bath, she would never get out, and Tom would be _very_ cross with her.

* * *

"Are you ready yet?"

The bathroom door burst open and Hermione shrieked.

"It's quarter past ten! What are you doing still in the bath?"

"Get out!"

"Get _dressed_," Tom growled. He stalked away and returned moments later, with Hermione's travelling bag. He threw it into the bathroom. "_Now_." He slammed the door behind him and Hermione could hear him pacing about in the main suite.

"You know Tom, it rather sounds like you're nervous," she called, as she climbed out of the bath, wrapping her towel around her. It was soft and fluffy and warm and she wanted to snuggle up in it until the end of time. There were so many things in this hospitality wing that she wanted to experience until the end of time, and she thought that perhaps Tom had the right idea, wanting to live here. It certainly wouldn't be a bad life.

"You know Hermione," he called back, "It sounds rather like you're going to die a very slow and very painful death if you're not ready in the next eight minutes!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and quickly got dressed. She used her wand to dry her hair, and then pinned it up in the way that Maggie had spent the entire week teaching her.

"It's ten thirty-two," Tom said darkly when she emerged. "Hurry _up_."

"Professor Dumbledore isn't here yet," Hermione said casually, although the nerves were building and building in her stomach.

"Yes, well it's not my problem if the old codger misses his own award ceremony."

"Oh I have no intention of missing it, Tom."

Tom whipped around, and it was Hermione's turn to smirk. Professor Dumbledore was standing in the doorway, dressed in a set of elaborate sapphire coloured robes, complete with intricate gold stitching.

"I...I'm sorry Professor," Tom said, and Hermione thought that for once his embarrassment was genuine.

"Not to worry, not to worry," Dumbledore said kindly. "I find that stress often brings out the offensive remarks that one harbours deep within their souls," he smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling. He looked older than Hermione remembered, and she now began to see the young Dumbledore as the same person as the one from her own time. She had thought of them as separate people until now, but young Dumbledore and old Dumbledore had merged to simply become _Dumbledore_. There was a heaviness to his expression that Hermione associated with her headmaster, rather than her Transfiguration professor, but the duel with Grindelwald had been a milestone in his life. It had been the beginning of old age.

"Not to worry though Tom, we have far more important things to be concerning ourselves with today. I hear there's a rather large party about to take place downstairs, and we are, as it were, the guests of honour."

"Yes sir," Tom said sheepishly.

"I must say you both look wonderful, and so grown up! I see my students so often in school robes that I always tend to think of them as _children_...but enough about the workings of an old man's mind, let us depart."

* * *

"I still feel sick," Hermione said.

"Well it's over now," Tom said quietly.

"No it isn't," she replied. "It's only just beginning. Why do we have to be up _here_? Do they think people want to watch us _eat_? Do they think we _want_ people to watch us _eat_?"

"Stop panicking, you'll just end up embarrassing yourself," Tom hissed.

Had she not been seated at a table on a raised platform, in full view of two hundred senior political figures, journalists, and important (otherwise known as rich) citizens, Hermione would have buried her head in her hands.

The Minister for Magic, who was sitting on Tom's left at the centre of the table, tapped his fork against his goblet lightly, and the quiet hum of conversation ceased in the banquet room. He stood up, though he was so short it barely made any difference at all.

"Before we begin, a toast is in order, I believe," he picked up his goblet and everyone else in the room followed suit. Tom dug Hermione in the ribs with his elbow and she took a hold of her goblet.

"The Ministry awards acts of bravery with a medal and a banquet, but never have we seen bravery such as this. First, from two young students of Hogwarts, who were determined to get their peers to safety, who used magical skill that wizards far beyond their age and expertise would have stumbled over when faced with such an enemy. Second, we have the pleasure of playing host to the man who one the greatest duel our world will ever see. Never has our world been so indebted to three people. I feel that these acts, these _astonishing _acts of courage cannot be rewarded in this life or the next, no matter how many medals and banquets we provide. So I would like to take this opportunity to raise our glasses, and offer our endless support to our heroes. Should they ever need anything at all, be it a glass of pumpkin juice or a place to stay, they need only ask, and the Ministry will see that it is provided in an instant."

There was a general murmur of agreement and Hermione felt the blush rise in her cheeks. How had she ended up being so lavishly rewarded for ten minutes of duelling, when Harry had been mocked, victimised, and _punished_ for all his work against Voldemort? How could life be so very dreadfully unfair?

"Now, let us drink to Miss Hermione Grey, Mr Tom Riddle, and finally, to Professor Albus Dumbledore," the Minister said this with a warm relish, and then drank deeply from his goblet, the other guests at the banquet mirroring his actions. Hermione took a careful sip of her wine, not wanting to drink too much too soon. She had been quite tipsy on just the one glass yesterday, but this banquet was set to last for hours, and there was a party to follow. There wasn't a single drop of pumpkin juice or water in sight, and it was as though the Ministry _wanted_ to get her drunk.

* * *

"I told you to stay _away _from the champagne," Tom slurred, gripping the bannister and hauling himself up the stairs.

"You're _drunk_," Hermione giggled. "I never thought I'd see you drunk." She giggled again, though she wasn't sure why - she didn't find it _that_ funny.

"I'm not drunk," he argued. "I'm just..."

Hermione fell against the door of her suite, and fiddled with the handle until it unlocked and she fell forwards throwing her arms around a gleaming white marble statue in an attempt to stay upright. Tom shut the door behind him and stumbled over to the bed.

"What are you _doing_?" Hermione whined. "This is _my_ room. Yours is down the _corridor_." She too managed to make it to the bed and flopped onto it, her dress robes rustling. She caught sight of herself in the mirror for the first time that day. She had had no time to check before she had left for the ceremony, and had trusted Dumbledore's comments to mean that she didn't look a complete mess.

For once, she thought she looked rather pretty. Granted a few locks of hair had fallen out of her do in the later hours of the day, but the dress still looked as fresh and beautiful as it had when she had shown it to Amelia, Grace and Maggie in Ravenclaw tower. She had never worn much red before, which was ironic, considering the house she had originally been placed in, but the deep scarlet of the dress didn't drain the colour from her face as she thought it might, but instead complimented it. It was a tight but comfortable fit, every inch of it tailored to her body shape, every stitch specifically designed to make her look _great_.

She turned around and saw Tom sleepily fumbling with the knot in his bow tie.

"Your room is down the corridor," she said again, and kicked off her shoes a little more carelessly than she had actually intended.

"Too far," Tom murmured. "I'll sleep here."

"You'll do no such _thing_!" Hermione retorted, trying to sound angry. Her drooping eyelids were making it harder and harder to seem threatening and she pushed her pillow into a comfortable shape, before laying down on her side, and watching Tom. His eyelids were closed, his breathing steady, and she thought he had perhaps already fallen asleep.

Hermione was on the brink of slumber herself, when he opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her.

"You looked really nice today," he said quietly, reaching out a hand so his fingers could play with the frilly sleeve of her dress.

Hermione let out a small breath of amusement, and neither of them said another word.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Little bit late again, for which I apologise. Only one more chapter and then the epilogue after this. You'll be glad to know these are already written, so should be up some time over the weekend. Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter, loved reading them, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter just as much. =]

* * *

**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

It was, perhaps, the most confusing situation she had ever awoken in.

Her brain, which had a rather reliable track record, even upon waking, had refused to work altogether. Her eyes protested as she opened them, searing in agony as they were blinded by the light pouring through the crack in the curtains. She groaned and rolled over onto her side, to be confronted by the sight of Tom, his robes rumpled, hair tousled, while his chest rose and fell steadily, his quiet breathing the only sound, other than the pounding in her head.

Hermione collapsed back onto her pillows, pressing her hands against her face, eyes squeezed shut against the harsh daylight.

"What time is it?" Tom groaned, his voice hoarse.

"Time you got out of my bed," Hermione replied grumpily.

Tom ignored her, and she heard him fumble around on the bedside table, knocking several items onto the floor. The loud clatters and bangs caused her to wince, pulling the sides of her pillow up to cover her ears.

"Half past twelve," he said at last. "We were supposed to be back in lessons this morning."

"To hell with lessons," she said, turning onto her side so her back was facing Tom (and more importantly, the offensive window that had dared to let the sun shine in).

"I told you to stay away from the champagne," he said, and Hermione kicked out at him, the heel of her foot connecting harshly with his shin. "I vote we go back to sleep," he said.

"I vote that you do that in your _own bed_."

"I vote that you stop being selfish."

Hermione huffed, but didn't argue. If she argued, it meant he would argue back, and if he argued back then that would make noise, and in her current state, noise was something best avoided.

* * *

It was wonderfully and shamefully dark when Hermione awoke next, and the gentle orange haze of the sinking sun was far kinder on her eyes. She felt a lot better already, more collected, more responsive, and much more Hermione-ish. One glance at the clock on the bedside table informed her that she wouldn't even make it to dinner at Hogwarts now. She had felt ill when she had first woken up, but that had been replaced by a growing hunger. She shook Tom awake and he sat up and yawned.

"We need to go back to Hogwarts," she said. "They're probably wondering what's happened to us."

"That or Dumbledore got just as hammered as we did and is still sleeping it off."

"I don't think so."

Tom sighed and ran a hand through his hair. There were dark circles under his eyes, accentuating the gauntness of his face. He stood up, stretched, and looked at Hermione.

"Don't tell anybody about...this."

"Why on earth do you think I would want to?"

"Well," he smirked, "it will only improve your reputation."

Hermione's jaw dropped, and he left the room, far too pleased with himself.

* * *

"You look terrible."

"Thanks Grace..." Hermione buried her face in her pillow, which she had placed at the foot of her bed, in order to get away with laying down while telling Amelia, Grace and Maggie about her experiences of the last few days. She didn't think they'd appreciate it if she fell asleep mid sentence, so she pulled her head up, took another gulp of pumpkin juice, and picked at the plate of sandwiches that Sampy had brought up for her.

"How much champagne did you get through?" Amelia asked, with a grin.

"Too much," Hermione said. "They just kept _giving it_ to me, and I'd have felt rude saying no."

"Did Tom get drunk?"

Hermione hesitated, which was the wrong move.

"Oh my goodness, did you two -?"

"_No_."

Maggie bit her lip at Hermione's harsh tone, and sat down on her bed.

"But something happened," Amelia guessed.

"Nothing happened," Hermione sighed. "He slept in my bed_, uninvited_, I might add, but that was it. We didn't touch, we didn't talk, we didn't kiss and we _certainly_ didn't do...what you're thinking."

"Tell you what," Grace said, crossing her legs, "I know he's a bit scary and a bit control freak-y," she paused, looking between Hermione and the others. "But I would."

Maggie cackled with glee, clapping her hands. "Oh I bet he's got really weird fetishes," she said.

Hermione felt her stomach churn.

"Yeah," Amelia agreed, "I bet he loves whips and chains and stuff like that. I bet he _loves_ being completely in control of a girl."

"Or maybe," Grace said, smirking. "Maybe he's only so controlling in real life because he loves being dominated by a girl in the bedroom. Maybe he _does_ like whips and chains, but when they're being used on _him_."

The three girls cackled, but Hermione just felt sick. She had heard plenty of their opinions on various boys in the school, and plenty of guesses as to what made them tick, but they were talking about Tom. _Tom Riddle_. Tom Riddle who had killed one of their fellow students, Tom Riddle who had already made _two_ horcruxes. Tom Riddle who was going to one day be the most feared dark wizard of all time.

"Maybe he likes to dress up," Maggie giggled.

"_Shut up!_"

The dormitory fell silent.

"Hermione...we were only messing about," Grace said quietly. "None of us were actually going to try anything with him, we know he's yours."

"_Mine_?" Hermione choked out incredulously. "_Mine_?"

"Yeah," Amelia said. "Even if we _wanted_ him we wouldn't stand a chance. He _respects_ you."

"He doesn't," Hermione said, "He doesn't respect anyone. You're all so stupid, everyone in this castle is _so stupid!_"

"Hermione..."

"What? What do you want me to say?" Hermione shrieked. "Oh yes, he's got top grades so that must mean that he's perfectly lovely and decent and wonderful. Is that what you want to hear? You've got no _idea_ what he's like. You've got no _idea_ what he's going to become."

"And you do?" Maggie asked sceptically. "Go on then, humour us _idiots_. Tell us what he's going to _become_."

"Maggie leave her," Amelia said.

"No, if she knows so much, why doesn't she tell us?"

"_Maggie_," Amelia's tone was sharp, and Maggie fell silent. "Can't you see she's upset? For Merlin's sake, leave her alone."

Amelia got up, nodded to the door, and Grace stood, grabbing Maggie's arm and hauling her out of the dormitory, leaving Hermione and Amelia alone.

"What happened?" Amelia asked gently. "Did he hurt you?" She kneeled on the floor by Hermione's bed, pushing a lock of bushy hair away from her face.

"No."

"So what's the matter?"

"You don't know what he's like," Hermione whispered. "I know, but I can't tell you how I know. He's a terrible person."

"So why did you let him sleep in your bed? Why do you even talk to him?"

"Because he can't _know_. If he knew what I knew then he'd...he'd..."

"Kill you?" Amelia asked, making a poor attempt at hiding her amusement. "Hermione, he can be a bit intimidating but he's no _murderer_."

Hermione looked up sharply, and met Amelia's gaze. She sank back slightly, shaking her head.

"Hermione...no..."

"You think I'm mad."

"No, I don't, I think you're just upset, and you know...you had a lot to drink yesterday, you probably haven't got your head together yet."

Hermione shook her head and put her face in her hands. "Ignore me," she said, finally regaining control over her emotions. "Just...ignore me."

"You're serious aren't you?"

"You don't _really_ think Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets, do you? _Hagrid_?"

"How...how do you know about that?"

"I was petrified in my second year at Hogwarts."

"You only joined after _Christmas_."

"My first day at Hogwarts was the first of September, nineteen ninety-one."

"What?" Amelia frowned, shaking her head in disbelief. "_What_?"

"D'you understand now?" Hermione asked. "You _can't_ tell anyone, I'm not even supposed to tell _you_, but you _all_ need to be careful. He's _dangerous_."

Amelia said nothing.

"You _can't_ tell anyone."

"Yeah, yeah I know," Amelia held up a hand of reassurance. "He's so..._good_ though. I mean, he was given the Order of _Merlin_ yesterday."

"He was given a special award for services to the school for framing Hagrid. He's not stupid, Amelia."

"But, if he's _killed people_, you need to tell Dippet!"

"I can't."

"Why _not_?"

"It would _change time_. Have you not read about time travel at all? _Terrible _things happen when people try to change time. You _can't_ tell anyone what I've told you. Not a single word, swear to me."

"I swear, I swear..." Amelia said. "Merlin, Hermione, I never expected this..."

"Yeah, well, the greatest trick Tom Riddle ever played, was convincing the world he was perfect."

* * *

The next morning, Hermione walked into her Transfiguration lesson to see Professor Dumbledore sitting behind his desk. He lowered his half moon spectacles when he saw her, his blue eyes peering at her over the rims, and crooked smile on his face.

"I see you've more or less recovered, Miss Grey..."

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. "Yes...yes I have."

"I must confess, I myself had a rather sore head yesterday."

"Told you," a low voice said behind her. Hermione whipped round and saw Tom. He had looked better, that was certain, but she imagined he had probably looked worse.

Hermione took a seat next to Amelia, and once the classroom was filled, Dumbledore got up, shut the door, and walked to the centre of the classroom. There was a small silence, then Warren Crockley put his hand up.

"Sir, would you tell us -"

"Your NEWT examinations begin in just a few weeks. Your education has already been disrupted enough, we must use our remaining time well."

"But sir," Warren argued, "It's history, you _made_ history."

"Then perhaps you'll learn about it in Professor Binn's class." Dumbledore's voice was even and patient, though with a slightly restrained edge to it. He had made it clear he didn't want to talk about Grindelwald, but unfortunately Warren was more stubborn than that.

"But aren't you proud Professor? You _destroyed_ him."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, one hand raising to rub his forehead. "You will learn as you get older, Mr Crockley, that there is a great difference between that which we need to do, and that which we want to do. Now, no more questions."

"You mean you didn't _want_ to?"

Hermione didn't hear Dumbledore's answer. His previous words were echoing around in her head.

_There is a great difference between that which we need to do, and that which we want to do._

She stood up abruptly, chair scraping against the flagstone floor, and all attention turned from Dumbledore onto her.

"Miss Grey?"

"I need to go," she said. "Home."

Dumbledore nodded, understanding. "Well, I wish you a safe journey."

She ran from the classroom, ignoring the mutterings that accompanied her swift exit.

* * *

"Just _wait_ a second!"

"For what?"

She skidded to a halt outside the Room of Requirement, Tom hot on her heels.

"You're going to go back, aren't you?" he said.

"Of _course_ I am! Why wouldn't I?"

"You belong here," Tom said. "You've got an _Order of Merlin_. You can't just run away _now_."

"I _don't_ belong here. Grey isn't even my real _name_."

Tom took a step back. "If you go, you'll just end up back in the same sorry state you arrived in."

"It doesn't matter."

"It _does_."

"Not to me."

The door materialised, and Hermione opened it, her skin tingling with anticipation.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Here we are. Just the epilogue after this. Enjoy.

* * *

**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

She flung the door shut behind her, concentrating harder than ever. This was it, she was sure it was going to work. It _had_ to work.

_I need to go and fight._

_I need to go and help Harry and Ron._

_I need to make sure they're okay. _

She closed her eyes as she whispered the mantra over and over and over. She wanted, no, _needed_ some form of confirmation before she stepped outside. She wasn't sure she could face going back outside and simply find Tom leaning against the opposite wall with that 'I told you so' look on his face.

She hated that look.

And then she realised that if she was back, if she _was_ home, she'd never see that look again, and suddenly, she didn't hate it, she _missed_ it. For all her hysteria the previous night, he really hadn't been as bad as his older self might suggest. It was the idea of him that scared her, rather than the reality, and she had been so obsessed with getting back that she hadn't had a chance to say anything to him, not even a 'goodbye' or a 'thanks for saving my life'. She'd simply run inside, not looking back, and now, well, now she wasn't sure she _wanted _ to be back.

But what she wanted and what she needed were not the same thing.

Regardless of what was on the other side of the door, she would need to be prepared. Prepared to fight, or, if this hadn't worked, prepared for the knowledge that nothing would be able to send her home.

Hermione took a deep breath, her wand clutched tightly in her hand, and stepped towards the door.

She hadn't been prepared enough. She hadn't realised that Rookwood would still be on the other side of that door, that his wand would be itching to hex her, to curse her, to _kill_ her.

The scene in front of her blurred in and out of focus as her head crashed against the wall, his leather gloved hand squeezing her throat, blocking off her air supply. Her eyes watered, her head felt heavy and she could feel the wand slipping from her fingers. She couldn't think straight; her brain seemed like it had long since abandoned her, and as her vision worsened, all she could do was try and keep a grip on the thin piece of wood in her hand.

There was a flash of green light and she fell to the floor, gasping for breath, body shaking uncontrollably as she tried to recover. The air felt foreign in her lungs, in a good way, in the _best _way. In the sort of way that the weather in the south of France felt foreign to someone who spent most of their year in Scotland.

"Come on, you're all right."

Hermione was pulled to her feet and her heart began to settle back into a more normal rate. She wiped at her eyes, still breathing heavily, and tried not to look at the open, glassy eyes of Augustus Rookwood, as he lay on the floor, dead at her feet.

Finally, she felt able to form words.

"What are you doing here?"

Tom didn't answer. He was looking out of a smashed window, his expression stony as he saw the carnage unfolding beneath them.

"Tom!"

Finally he looked at her. "I needed to see if you were all right," he said simply.

"But you can't _be_ here!"

Tom turned back to the window. "It's him, isn't it?"

"You need to go ho-" she flinched as a scream drowned out the last of her sentence and her heart started to speed up again, her wand shaking in her hand as the panic started to flow through her veins as though it had replaced her blood.

"Isn't it!"

"Tom, you can't stay here!"

"He can't _do_ this."

For the first time ever, Hermione heard his voice crack. He was gripping the window ledge tightly, his knuckles popping under his skin, his jaw set in a way that suggested he was determined to not show any emotion.

"Tom you need to-"

"This _is_ my home. I won't let him."

Before Hermione could protest, he was striding down the corridor, and she was having to run to keep up with him.

With each flight of stairs they went down, the damage and chaos grew and grew until finally they were in the entrance hall, Tom deflecting curses while Hermione tried desperately to change his mind, to tell him that he _couldn't_ mess with time and that he had to go back _right now_.

It was no use however. He wasn't listening to her.

She gasped when she saw Colin Creevey, trying to hold off two Death Eaters at once, but before she could help, they had both been engulfed in green light, the life snatched from their bodies in an instant. Colin's wide eyes met her own, and then he looked at Tom, who simply carried on across the entrance hall, clearing a path with his wand.

Hermione had never had a good look at _him_ before. That night, in Godric's Hollow, everything had been so quick, so panicked - it was the only glimpse she'd ever had of Lord Voldemort.

Now, however, he was in the centre of the Great Hall, curses flying and deflecting around the room, his snake-like face twisted, his scarlet eyes narrowed, as he struggled to duel Kingsley, McGonagall and Slughorn simultaneously.

"But, that's not...that's not Grindelwald, surely?"

He had whispered, but Hermione heard him loud and clear, even in the noise and confusion that surrounded them.

"You need to go."

"No, I need to know who he is."

"You _want_ to know who he is. You don't _need_ to know. In fact, it's best that you don't find out."

He gave her a cold look and she tried to grab the back of his robes to stop him but he was already out of reach, marching towards his future self, not giving a damn about anything other than satisfying his curiosity.

In a quick, sharp wand movement, a lightening bolt shot across the room, connecting with Voldemort's chest. He screamed, and everybody turned to watch, silence falling across the entire hall.

Kingsley, McGonagall and Slughorn retreated slightly, wands still ready as Voldemort focused all of his attention on Tom.

"Interesting," he hissed.

"You need to leave," Tom said darkly, his grey eyes meeting Voldemort's red ones head on.

"I believe it is _you_ that needs to leave. You don't belong here."

"This is my _home_."

"What on Earth is going - have you _changed your clothes_?"

Hermione threw her arms around a bewildered Harry, and he peeled her away after a few moments, his attention focused solely on the man he could see over her shoulder. To Harry, they'd only been apart for a few minutes at the most, but it was all Hermione could do not to burst into hysterical tears of relief at the sight of him, bruised and bloody, yes, but green eyed, determined and _alive_.

"That's Tom Riddle."

"I know."

The entire hall had fallen silent now. Those who didn't know that Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort were one and the same (technically - their very separate bodies currently suggested otherwise) knew that anybody who Lord Voldemort showed that much interest in, so much interest that he lowered his wand to stop killing, just for moment, had to be important.

"My memories are shifting, even as we speak," Voldemort said in a low hiss that was nevertheless audible throughout the entire room. "Miss Grey, I believe," he turned his scarlet eyes on Hermione and she did her best not to shift uncomfortably under the intensity of the stare. There was nothing about the monster in front of her that even remotely resembled Tom, not his looks, his voice, his manner...nothing at all.

And yet, there Tom Riddle was, standing right beside her, looking at his future.

"Who are you?" Tom demanded, his voice confident and without any shake of nerves.

"I?" Voldemort paused, and Hermione could see he was delighting in having the chance to introduce himself to someone completely ignorant of him and all he had achieved. "I am Lord Voldemort."

What little colour there had been in Tom's face drained completely. His wand dropped slightly and he shook his head, while Voldemort bared his teeth in a sadistic smile.

"No," Tom was still shaking his head, his voice now hoarse. "_No_."

"_Yes_."

"Tom," Hermione said quietly, her gaze flicking between him and Voldemort. She saw Harry and Ron's jaws drop simultaneously as she touched Tom's arm gently, her fingers closing around his wrist and pulling him backwards, away from Voldemort. "You need to go back."

"But he says he's Lord Voldemort," Tom choked, his grey eyes settling on Hermione's. They were filled with so many unsaid things, unsaid because he would have thought it weak to even think them, but now, here, in the Great Hall, with Voldemort watching with ever decreasing patience, and thousands of others watching with ever increasing interest, she knew why he had saved her life in Hogsmeade, even if he was still struggling with the idea.

She also knew why she had saved his.

And yet his future was standing not even ten feet away from them, the epitome of evil.

"I can stay," Tom said. "If I stay, then he won't...he won't..."

Hermione looked over to Voldemort, and detected only the slightest hint of panic behind his stare.

"Tom," he hissed, in what Hermione suspected he misguidedly thought was a kind tone, "Hermione is right, you must return to the past."

Tom shook his head. "No," and his voice was stronger now, his mind made up.

"Tom you can't change time!" Hermione's grip on his wrist tightened and she tried to tug him away.

"This is my home," he said firmly, his eyes meeting Voldemort's, his wand raised and steady once more. "It's _your_ home. You should have more respect for it. This is what you fought Grindelwald for."

"It was never my choice to fight Grindelwald," Voldemort hissed. "You are weak, you allowed yourself to be influenced by others, now _go_!"

Voldemort raised his wand but Tom laughed.

"What are you going to do? Kill me? That sounds like a bright idea, doesn't it?"

Voldemort leered, and then turned his wand on Hermione.

She knew that this was it, her fate sealed by a final act of defiance from Tom. She didn't mind. There were worse ways to go, and quite frankly she was amazed she'd made it this far. Her eyes came to rest on Harry and Ron, distraught and powerless. If they were the last thing she ever saw, that would be okay. At least she had gotten back to her own time, and at least she had fought.

It was as though some invisible force had taken over her vision, and she found her eyes dragging away from her best friends and onto Tom, who was looking at her ashen faced, mouth slightly agape as he tried to make his decision. Hermione could see the cogs turning behind his eyes, but they were very slow moving cogs, very indecisive cogs, and very defeated cogs.

"He's going to kill you anyway," Tom said bleakly, his eyes glazed over and not quite seeing her. He shook his head sharply, as though he were shaking away thoughts of defeat, and the clouded look in his eyes left.

She could hear Harry shouting empty threats at Voldemort, could hear him cackling in response. In her peripheral vision she could see flashes of light as Ron fired curse after curse after curse at Voldemort, who deflected them all with arrogant ease. She paid them no notice, and it was as though her brain thought that if she held Tom's gaze long enough, they would disappear into some sort of nowhere space, neither here nor there, far away from danger, far away from the consequences of messing with time, far away from anything but each other.

He broke the eye contact, and she wasn't sure how long they had been looking at each other, but however long it had been wasn't nearly long enough.

"I'm staying," he said to Voldemort, his lips twisted into the smirk that Hermione had grown reluctantly fond of.

"So be it," Voldemort hissed. "_Avada_ -"


	14. Epilogue

**A/N:** This is the end! Part of me can hardly believe I've written an ending like this. I don't want to say too much before you've actually read it, but I think you'll know what I mean. Thanks to all of you who have stuck with me on this journey. This will be the last multichapter for the foreseeable future - many many many real life writing projects need my attention, but I'll still knock out the odd one shot no doubt. Thanks for reading, you're all disastrously lovely. Oh and if you want to keep up to date with my writing (possibly make a one shot request if you fancy it) then feel free to follow me on twitter. The link is on my profile.

* * *

**A Safe Place to Hide.**

**by Flaignhan.**

* * *

The second half of the curse never left Voldemort's lips. A gale force wind ripped through the Great Hall, knocking Hermione to the floor. A pair of hands found her own in the confusion and she held onto them for dear life as her clothes and hair whipped around her, debris flying through the air as though they were caught in a hurricane. She buried her face in her arms, covering her head, fingers still entwined with Tom's as they rode out the storm.

It ended in a split second. Chaos became tranquillity in an instant and Hermione cautiously raised her head to look around the Great Hall.

Tom was next to her, looking just as confused as she felt. A gentle clearing of someone's throat pulled her attention away from Tom and she looked to her right, where she was met with a pair of purple ankle boots, the toes curving upwards like they belonged to some sort of elf or pixie from a muggle fairytale.

Hermione sat up and saw the twinkling blue eyes and amused smile of Albus Dumbledore.

"Miss Granger," he said, peering over his half moon spectacles at her, "I find myself in the curious position of being _alive_."

"Professor, I -" Hermione tried to explain, but what could she possibly say? Albus Dumbledore was alive and well, but that didn't stop cold dread spreading through her veins like an icy poison. Terrible things happened to people who messed with time. Professor McGonagall had been quite clear about that when handing over the time turner.

"Come along, there is much to discuss."

Hermione got to her feet, her hand never leaving Tom's, and the pair of them followed Dumbledore from the immaculate Great Hall.

There were no bodies piled high on the tables, the hour glasses that kept track of the house points were all in tact (she happily noted Gryffindor were in the lead) the flag stone floor was neither cracked nor crumbling, and the sky above them was bright and clear and blue.

It was all too perfect.

So perfect, in fact, that she wondered if she had died.

"Professor, where are Harry and Ron?" she asked, quickening her pace so she and Tom were now walking alongside Dumbledore.

"Quidditch practice," he said, "the final is on Saturday, and Mr Potter is rather determined to lift the trophy one last time."

"I don't -"

"My office," Dumbledore said warmly, and a little of the fear and worry that had taken over her subsided.

"Sherbet lemon?" Dumbledore offered once they were inside his office. Hermione took one automatically, though she was in no mood for sweets. Tom shook his head and continued to examine the whirring silver instruments that stood on the shelves, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Time's changed," Hermione said, sitting down in the chintz armchair opposite Dumbledore. Tom sat down next to her, and remained silent.

"Indeed it has," Dumbledore agreed, his hands clasped together. His right hand, Hermione saw, was in perfect condition.

"Something must be wrong though, mustn't it? I mean, what happened to Voldemort?"

"Voldemort doesn't exist," Dumbledore replied. "And I do hope that you make sure he never does," his eyes landed on Tom, who shifted in his seat.

"That wasn't me," he argued.

"It was," Dumbledore said, "before you met Miss Granger, or Grey, whichever you prefer."

"So he just vanished?" Hermione asked, her brow creasing.

"Tom's decision to remain here means that the man who called himself Lord Voldemort, the man who tried to kill you in the Great Hall, never came to power. Tom hasn't even left school yet, Lord Voldemort has not yet come to be."

Hermione tried to get her head around the idea of there being no Voldemort, but when her brain refused to process it, she moved on.

"Surely there's been damage done though," she said. "Surely people have died as a result."

"On the contrary, Miss Granger, I believe that the powers that be decided that there could be nothing worse than that which the wizarding world has suffered at the hands of Lord Voldemort. It is, as one might put it, a happy ending."

Hermione shook her head, not daring to believe that they had been granted a _happy ending_.

"Nobody else remembers," Dumbledore continued, "The events of the last few years are most likely somewhere deep in their memories, repressed by their minds, but the name Lord Voldemort means nothing to anybody, not even to those that had once died at his hand."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"I mean," Dumbledore said, a small smile forming on his lips, "that James and Lily Potter will be attending Saturday's quidditch final, most likely with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin in tow. And that's just the beginning of it. The list of..._second chancers_, is delightfully long."

"But what about the Death Eaters?" Hermione asked in a panic, "Surely they'll rally around someone else? Surely they'll try to -"

"Very few of the Death Eaters would have been prepared to act alone, and those that were committed some terrible crimes, but they will never leave Azkaban."

"So not everybody got a second chance," Hermione said flatly.

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said with a sigh, "but in comparison to things as they were..."

"My parents," Hermione said, hoping that they had not been two of the very few unlucky victims of the changing of time.

"Will be waiting for you at King's Cross station when you return home at the end of term," Dumbledore said. "As will the entire Weasley family no doubt, and the Potters."

Hermione still felt uneasy. The situation was alarmingly perfect. Harry's parents were _alive_, Dumbledore was _alive, _and Lord Voldemort had never even _existed_.

"I -"

"Perhaps some food, and then a trip down to the quidditch pitch to watch the practice?" Dumbledore said, calling an end to the conversation. Hermione nodded reluctantly, and was about to get up when Tom spoke.

"Professor," he said, "What about me?"

"What about you, Tom?" It wasn't said in an unkind way, more in the sort of way that suggested that there was no reason why any of them should be concerned.

"Well, I -" Tom was fiddling with the ring on his little finger, and Dumbledore's eyes dropped to look at it.

"I daresay in time your soul will repair itself. We three are the only ones aware of the exact details of your past, and I think, perhaps, you can add your name to the list of _second chancers _also."

"You knew?" Tom turned to Hermione. "You knew that I...and you still...you still saved my life?"

"I told you," Hermione said, "I didn't think about it."

"And if you _had_ thought about it?"

"I...probably still would have saved you," she admitted. A short silence followed, which was eventually broken by Dumbledore.

"Dobby!"

There was a loud _crack_, and the small house elf appeared in the office, his long pointed ears sticking out of the gaps in the tea cosy he was wearing as a hat, Ron's old Christmas jumper looking very well worn but very well cared for on his skinny frame.

"Dobby..." Hermione whispered, and she dropped out of her armchair, onto her knees, and pulled the elf into a hug, forgetting for a moment that the poor creature had no idea why he was receiving such a warm welcome. She didn't care though, without him, she wouldn't be alive, and neither would Harry, nor Ron, nor Luna, Dean, Griphook, Mr Ollivander...

"Dobby is pleased to see you too, Miss!" he squeaked cheerfully. "How can Dobby be of assistance?"

"Some food, for Hermione and Tom, please Dobby, they'll be down in the kitchens shortly."

"Yes, Headmaster, of course, Headmaster, Dobby will see to it personally!"

There was another loud _crack_ and the elf disappeared once more.

"You just hugged a house elf."

"Voldemort underestimated house elves," Hermione told Tom, getting to her feet. "Don't make his mistakes."

Tom fell silent for a moment, but then opened his mouth to ask one final question. "If nobody else remembers," he said to Dumbledore, "then how come you do?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I think, perhaps, I remember, because there are worse things in my past that I have been unable to repress."

Tom looked like he was about to ask what exactly those things were, but Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," she said. "I'm starving."

He nodded and stood up. They left the Headmaster's office, hands finding each other automatically as they descended the spiral staircase.

* * *

Harry looked odd without his scar. Nice, but odd.

Luna was sitting with Dean a few rows ahead of them, cheering on the Gryffindor team as they practised, Ginny doing her very best to get the quaffle past Ron while Harry darted about, chasing the snitch.

They were silent as they watched, both of them still trying to get used to the idea of time changing for the better. At one point, Tom asked exactly what Lord Voldemort had done, but she had shaken her head, promised him that one day, she would tell him, but for now, she wanted to enjoy the peace.

The peace was interrupted however, as a poorly deflected bludger came shooting towards them. Tom knocked Hermione to the floor just in time, and the cannon ball like missile collided with their seats, splintering the wood, sending shards of broken chair flying through the air.

Tom was on top of her, his body covering hers in the cramped leg space between the rows. They had never been this close before, and even though she knew what was coming, it still surprised her when he moved closer still, his lips meeting hers in a soft, almost timid kiss. He grew more confident when she kissed him back, pulling him even closer, her fingers tangling in his hair.

When they parted, Hermione's lips still tingling, she saw Jimmy Peakes hovering on his broom nearby.

"I take it you're all right then," he said, grinning mischievously.

Hermione tutted and he darted off once more. She looked at Tom, and then laughed, and soon he joined in.

It wasn't a perfect world, but it was close, and if bludgers were the most dangerous thing she had to contend with then that was fine, she was happy to take it.

"Saved your life again," he said, getting to his feet and helping her up. One casual wave of his wand returned the seats to their former condition. "You owe me one."

"One what?" Hermione asked, grinning.

"We can discuss terms later," he said, finding her hand and lacing their fingers together.

Hermione knew he wasn't kidding, but she didn't mind. She didn't mind one bit.

She had asked for a safe place to hide, and there was no place safer than the spot by his side.

* * *

**The End.**


End file.
